Encounters
by akamww3
Summary: Just what might slip through when there's been a major crack in the Ice Man's surface ... what - or who?
1. An Unexpected Refuge

"Mr. Holmes?" Molly waited for a response, hesitant to draw any closer to the sleek black car idling at the curb and the motionless man sitting within the angle of its open back door, his elegantly shod feet resting on the pavement. She followed his gaze and abruptly realized where he was staring. "Mr. Holmes?" Again, no response. _"Mycroft?"_

Mycroft heard the voice calling his name and closed his eyes, only to be confronted by an even clearer image of Sherlock's body lying bloody and seemingly lifeless on the pavement outside Barts. Despite the years that had passed since that successfully staged bit of street theatre, Mycroft found it impossible to erase the memory of a scene that could so easily have been real.

Molly stepped closer and bit her lip when she got a good look at Sherlock's older brother. She had only the most passing of acquaintances with the man and doubted he would go so far as to count her as _that_ , but she thought his normally pale features had a deathlike pallor in the fading light. "Mr. Holmes," she tried again, "are you unwell?" After a moment, Mycroft slowly blinked … once, twice … then licked his lips before turning his head toward her. Molly had to suppress a shiver at his mask of cold impassivity and the blank expression in his eyes.

"Miss Hooper?" He lifted a hand toward his forehead then dropped it to his lap before shifting forward on the seat and rising to his feet. "Good evening."

Molly moved closer until she was standing at arm's length. "Are you unwell, Mr. Holmes?"

His shoulders relaxed as he focused those steely blue eyes on her. "Not at all, Miss Hooper."

"Is it Sherlock?" A pained expression flickered across his features before his face fell into its usual neutral lines. Genuinely alarmed now, Molly leaned toward him and wrapped her hand around his forearm. "What _is_ it, Mycroft? What's happened? Is Moriarty truly alive?"

"My brother –" Mycroft stared through Molly for a moment, then blinked again and met her gaze as the corners of his lips lifted into a smile that froze her in place. "Don't fret, Miss Hooper. I'm sure you'll hear from Sherlock again soon."

When Molly continued to stare at him silently, Mycroft dropped his gaze to her hand, then raised his brows. Molly tightened her fingers in response. "What can I do?"

A deep crease appeared between Mycroft's brows as he lifted his eyes to hers. "I'm sorry?"

"How can I help you, Mr. Holmes?" At Molly's question, some brief emotion darkened his expression and sent an unsettling quiver through her, but then a veil of condescension fell over his face.

"I assure you there's nothing you can do for me, Miss Hooper."

Molly couldn't be sure whether or not there'd been a slight emphasis on the second "you." She held his gaze a few moments longer, then dropped her hand from his arm. "Excuse my presumption, _Mister_ Holmes." She looked away as she hitched the straps of her handbag and rucksack higher on her shoulder and turned to go. "Good evening." She'd taken two steps when Mycroft cleared his throat.

"May I offer you a lift home, Miss Hooper?"

Molly opened her mouth to refuse, then hesitated, still concerned despite herself by the pallor of his skin. She slowly turned around. "You don't need to do that. I can take the tube."

"Please, Miss Hooper." He stepped backward on the pavement and flicked his hand at the open car door. "Allow me."

Molly climbed into the car and slid to the far side of the seat, studying the driver as unobtrusively as possible. He'd as yet to look her way, even in the rearview mirror. When Mycroft settled into the opposite corner, she glanced at him then quickly away. "My flat is at –"

Mycroft broke in rather impatiently, "I'm aware of your address, Miss Hooper," as his driver easily merged into the early evening traffic. "Considering the part you played in the planning and aftermath of Sherlock's supposed suicide, the very least I could do was to provide for your security during his long absence."

Mycroft turned toward the window, as he continued almost absent-mindedly, "Yes, my brother's been remarkably successful at gathering such an eclectic flock of followers, each of them so eager to do his bidding, so willing to ignore his ingratitude, so blind to what's really been going on in front of them."

Molly unbuckled her belt and scooted forward. "Excuse me ... driver? Would you pull over here?" The man's eyes met hers in the mirror, then just as obviously shifted toward Mycroft.

"Miss Hooper," Mycroft said evenly, "there's no need for that."

"It's not for you to decide."

"You're being unreasonable, my dear," he said, in what Molly felt was an overly patronizing tone.

"You know what? _Fuck you,_ Mycroft Holmes. Pardon me for thinking you looked ill and could possibly use a 'friend'." She barked a bitter-sounding laugh, then turned to face him. "You _poor_ man … having to live in a world of _goldfish,"_ she scoffed, then arched a brow, smirking, at the startled expression that briefly animated his features. "It's been made clear to me for years now that I mean nothing to your brother except when I can be useful … when he _needs_ something from me. And _you_ … you won't allow me to help when I'm here and could possibly be of assistance." She stared accusingly at him for a moment, then turned away. "Tell the driver to pull over. _Please._ " She stared fixedly out the window, trying to ignore the charged silence behind her.

Mycroft sighed tiredly after a few moments. "Miss Hooper – _Molly_ … your concern about my health is misplaced, but it should have been acknowledged more graciously," he said, lifting his umbrella from where it stood by his leg, then intently studying its handle. "Would you please let me see you home." When Molly didn't respond, Mycroft turned to look at the back of her head.

Molly finally released a long breath. "All right."

They traveled the rest of the way in uneasy silence. Molly could see out of the corner of her eye that Mycroft continued to turn the handle of his umbrella between his fingers. When the driver finally pulled to a stop directly outside Molly's block of flats, she settled the straps of her bags over her shoulder, then shifted her weight on the seat before looking at Mycroft. "Thanks for the lift," she said, then continued more uncertainly. "Would you like to, um, come up for a cup of tea?"

"Miss Hooper –" He broke off and Molly saw that his hand had whitened at the knuckles where he grasped the umbrella.

"Sorry – I shouldn't have asked, but the offer of tea is genuine," she said, her own knuckles whitening as she gripped her hands together. Molly hesitated a couple of moments, then leaned toward Mycroft and stared up at him intently. "I know you find my stubborn infatuation with your brother silly and think I'm oblivious to his complete lack of interest. But I _know_ he doesn't care for me, the same way I know he _does_ love you - and likely resents you in equal measure." Molly stopped to take a breath, then sighed. "And now Moriarty is inexplicably all over the telly and the powers-that-be must be suffering a case of mass hysteria while waiting for you to go pat their heads and tell them all will be well …, and I assume Sherlock has also done something awful that requires you to deal with the fallout from _that_ at the same time." She smiled when a look of surprise flickered across his face. "Your brother talks about you more than you'd think, or he might realize, when I'm helping him in the lab or if he wants something else from me."

Molly finally turned to stare out the window. "I simply thought you could use a few minutes' quiet time, somewhere people wouldn't think to look for you, where no one wants anything from you. But I can see that I've been foolish yet again." She shoved the car door open without first checking for traffic and then scrambled out onto the street before bending to look at him. "Best of luck with saving the world, Mr. Holmes." She pushed the door shut and walked away without looking back.

#####

Molly let herself into the flat, tossed her keys into a dish on the table in the entry, then took off her coat and scarf and hung them on a hook by the door. She bent to scratch Toby's ear when he showed up, then headed for the kitchen. She started to reach for the kettle, but instead braced her hands on the edge of the counter and dropped her head between her shoulders. _Will I never learn?_

Molly's head jerked up at a faint tapping sound. She tilted her head, listening intently, then heard three quick raps on the flat's door. She hurried to the entry and swung the door open, only to fall back, still gripping the knob, shocked at finding Mycroft standing on the threshold, looking at her impassively but with the corners of his lips turned up. "Is tea still on offer?"

Molly opened the door wider and moved aside without comment. She silently watched as he hung his umbrella on a free hook, tugged off his gloves and slipped them into a coat pocket, then shrugged out of his coat and unwound his scarf. Molly's throat tightened and her heart rate unexpectedly increased as she focused on the surprising grace and beauty of his hands as he removed each outer garment. She continued to watch when Mycroft ran his palm over the crown of his head to smooth his hair. As she lowered her gaze, her eyes inadvertently met his and she felt the impact of those steely blue eyes all the way to her core.

Molly quickly turned, hoping Mycroft hadn't seen her start to flush, and led the way to the kitchen. As she passed the table, she flicked a hand toward a chair, then continued to the sink and filled the kettle. She drew a deep breath through her nose as she plugged it in and flipped the switch, then turned around to lean against the counter. Mycroft was sitting on the far side of the table, watching her with apparent disinterest, and Molly crossed her arms protectively as she met his gaze. "What made you change your mind?"

"A nice cup of tea, they say, is a remedy to cure all ills," he said lightly. "And as I recall from a brief visit here with Sherlock a couple of years ago, you know how to make it properly."

Molly snorted, then pushed away from the worktop and went to sit at the end of the table, at a right angle to Mycroft. "If only such a cure-all did exist," she said, suppressing a sigh, and they sat quietly until she got up again to prepare the tea.

"Miss Hooper …," Mycroft broke the silence in an even tone that made Molly turn to stare at him with a sudden feeling of dread, "you were correct about Sherlock. He has indeed done something … _awful,_ to use your description. I can say no more now, but I hope you will continue to encourage his better instincts, to be a friend to him, no matter what you may hear."

"Sherlock doesn't listen to me. He doesn't care -"

"Sherlock values your good opinion more than you know," Mycroft insisted. "Just don't give up on him now. He's going to need people around him whom he can trust."

"But you –"

"Not I," he said evenly. "Sherlock doesn't need – doesn't _want_ me to look after him."

Molly turned away from him, extremely curious to know what had gone on between the brothers, but realizing she had no right to question Mycroft further about it. His voice had sounded strained to her even though he'd obviously tried to speak in his usual unruffled manner. She sighed silently, then focused on the task at hand.

They'd been sipping their tea for several minutes, in some semblance of friendly companionship, when Mycroft flinched and leaned sideways to look under the table. "I don't think your cat likes me," he said after a moment, then gave her what looked like a genuine smile. "Obviously a creature of discernment."

Molly made a face and quickly pushed her chair back and ducked her head under the table. She reappeared after a few moments, slightly red-faced and cradling the cat against her chest. "Did Toby dig his claws into your ankle?"

"A pre-emptive attack, I'd say," he replied, with unexpected whimsy. "A warning not to get too comfortable." He pushed his chair back, then picked up his cup and saucer and carried them to the sink. "Thank you for the tea, Miss Hooper. You do indeed make a nice cuppa."

Molly dropped Toby under the table, then rose to her feet just as Mycroft returned to stand by his chair, which left him looming over her. Molly started to step back, but hesitated at seeing the odd expression that briefly altered his usual impassiveness. For a moment he'd looked … sad? Lost? _Surely not,_ she thought, but couldn't stop herself from moving closer and resting her hand on his arm. Molly's breath caught when a tingle ran through her, and they both froze, staring at her hand. She glanced up at Mycroft, then quickly lowered her gaze, wondering if his arrested expression meant he'd felt a sudden frisson of excitement as well.

Molly slowly flexed her fingers against the fine wool of his jacket, then slid her hand along his forearm to the edge of the sleeve, pausing to finger the crisp linen cuff of his shirt, then brushed her fingers over his bare wrist before cupping her hand around the back of his. He did nothing to stop her … and the atmosphere in the room became tense.

Molly lifted and turned his hand in hers and after another quick glance up at him used her other hand to spread his fingers open. When she slowly traced the lines of his palm with her forefinger, he drew a deep breath, then twisted his hand around and gripped hers.

"I am not a kind man," Mycroft observed, apropos of nothing.

Molly suddenly felt light-headed. "I know."

"It wouldn't mean anything," he said evenly.

"I know."

"I don't have much time … none, really –"

"Mycroft," Molly broke in, staring at him intently as she softly, shockingly, added, "come to bed with me … if you want."

In the charged silence that followed, Mycroft's eyes held Molly's unwaveringly as he let go of her hand and shrugged out of his jacket. He dropped his gaze to watch as he carefully draped the jacket over the back of his chair and smoothed a wrinkle from the shoulder – as if such commonplace action required his full concentration - and then he finally looked at her.

When Molly offered Mycroft her hand, he took it.

#####

Mycroft's eyes held Molly's as he unhooked his watch chain and set the pocket watch on the bedside table before reaching for the top button of his waistcoat. She watched him loosen his tie, then swallowed audibly and toed off her shoes. Once his waistcoat and tie were hanging loose, he carefully removed his cufflinks and set them on the table, then unbuckled his belt and pulled his shirttail free. As he started unbuttoning his shirt, he arched a brow at Molly's lack of progress, then a corner of his lips quirked when Molly flushed and quickly pulled her jumper over her head before working the top button of her shirt through its hole.

Mycroft glanced around the room, then walked to an armchair and arranged his clothes over it. He toed off his shoes and stepped out of his trousers, suppressing a smile at the muffled sound Molly made when he stooped to pull off his socks. When he was down to his pants, Mycroft moved back to the side of the bed and stood facing Molly across its width. Molly reached around to unclip her bra, then let it drop to the floor. She flushed when Mycroft's gaze followed her hands to her hips as she gripped the sides of her knickers and paused for a moment before pushing them down to join the rest of her clothes on the floor.

They stared at each other silently for several moments, then Mycroft grasped the edge of the thick duvet and slowly dragged it to the end of the bed, leaving the sheets bare. Molly blushed at the likely intention behind that and quickly reached to flip off the lamp. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark, then gasped loudly when fingers trailed down her left arm to her wrist just as the light came back on.

Mycroft moved his hand from the lamp switch and lightly encircled Molly's right wrist before slowly sliding both hands up her arms. After a moment, he cupped her shoulders as he nudged her hair aside with his chin and pressed his lips to the nape of her neck. "Not in the dark," he murmured next to her ear, sending a quiver down her spine, and the fine hairs on her body reacted as if electrified when his lips feathered along the side of her neck. "Eyes fully open."

Molly stifled a moan as she agreed. "Eyes open."

Mycroft's hands turned Molly to face him, then he waited until her head tilted back and their eyes met. "I'm not Sherlock." Molly flinched and tried to twist away. "Hold still a moment, Molly." He waited until she looked at him again. "Your yearning for my brother has gone unrequited for years. Is this sudden attraction to me a coincidence?"

She quickly countered. "Is this a pity fuck?"

"You tell me," he said evenly.

Molly stopped straining away from Mycroft and instead stepped closer and brought her body flush against his. She shivered when she felt his erection press against her stomach and shifted to slip her hand between them, suppressing a smile when he grunted at her fingering his hard length through the thin material of his pants. "I don't know what it is," she said breathlessly, "but I _want_ you, Mycroft Holmes … most desperately as it turns out."

Mycroft's breath caught when Molly carefully released him before pushing the pants down his legs. He breathed deeply through his nose, nostrils flared, when she gripped his cock in her fist and gave him a few firm pumps before rubbing the pad of her thumb over its moist tip. "I don't know if I can be gentle enough for you," he rasped, as his breathing quickened.

"I don't need you to be gentle," Molly responded breathily, then met his eyes as she lifted her dampened thumb to her mouth and slowly pushed it between her lips. Her view of the room abruptly tilted when Mycroft bore her down to the bed. Molly gave a low moan of pleasure as their naked bodies came together, but retained enough sense to lift an arm and point to the bedside table. "Condom."

Mycroft shifted until he could pull the drawer open, then lifted himself back over Molly, supporting most of his weight on his elbows. He slid his hands under her head, studying her expression as he carefully worked his knee between hers. She had a fleeting thought that this was Mycroft Holmes she was clutching to her so greedily, whose chest hair was rubbing so deliciously against her breasts, whose muscled thigh was pressing hers wider, whose fully engorged cock was caught between their bellies … _Dear god._

Molly felt flushed and feverish as she wrapped her legs around Mycroft, clutching him more closely to her, and then the heat spread throughout her body, tightening her nipples, when he dragged his mouth down her throat toward her breasts. Her mouth opened wide in a loud gasp and her back arched when he sucked her left breast into his mouth, teeth gently scraping her areola and tongue flicking her nipple, and palmed her right breast, catching its nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Molly writhed beneath him, still wanting more. _"Mycroft …,"_ she groaned, tilting her hips higher, seeking full contact.

Mycroft raised his head, breathing heavily as their eyes met. He shifted his weight onto one elbow and flattened his hand on her belly before sliding his fingers lower to curve between her thighs. Molly's blush deepened, but her eyes remained fixed on the dark intensity of his gaze, allowing him to see the pleasure he gave her as his fingers worked their way through her wet folds and his middle finger probed more deeply. A second finger joined the first, thrusting gently, coaxing more of a response from her, and slowly … _at last_ … Mycroft's head lowered to Molly's and their lips met for the first time.

Molly's hands released his shoulders and cupped the back of his head, holding him to her as their mouths moved slowly, carefully exploring, breaths intermingling, tentatively learning the other's shape and contours and taste. Their lips separated and they studied each other, both breathing heavily, then Mycroft's eyes lost focus and a crease appeared between his brows as he tilted his head to better concentrate on what his fingers were doing. Molly moaned when a third finger was added to his careful probing and then shifted her feet on his back to angle her hips more comfortably. With that done, she tightened her fingers and tugged him into another kiss, her lips moving over his more eagerly, then rubbed the tip of her tongue along the seam of his lips and slid her tongue into his mouth as his lips parted. When Mycroft's fingers began to caress her more methodically, Molly gasped into his mouth and began mimicking his fingers' thrusting motions with her tongue … and then, without any warning, her body convulsed and she arched away from him, chest heaving as she cried out and pressed her head hard against her pillow. Mycroft removed two of his fingers from her but continued with gentle caresses as her body pulsed around his remaining finger until Molly finally lowered a hand to grasp his wrist. "Stop for a minute," she said, panting as she lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed the back of it. "Just give me a minute," she said again, pressing his hand between her breasts.

Molly could feel Mycroft studying her face as she lay beneath him, eyes closed, breathing slowly and deeply. She smiled after a couple of minutes and opened her eyes. "You're incredibly patient, Mr. Holmes." Molly's gaze held his as she worked her hand between their bodies and carefully wrapped her fingers around his erection, which hardened further when she gave him a couple of slow pumps with her fist. "How would you like to do this?" She suppressed a smile when he looked confused for a moment. "It's your turn, Mycroft. Would you like me to change position?"

Mycroft's expression darkened. "Nothing wrong with this one, is there?"

Molly huffed a laugh. "Nothing at all," she said, then released him and slid both hands up his chest, pausing to rub her thumbs over his nipples, then moved on to encircle his neck. "Feel free to do your worst. I won't break."

Mycroft took Molly at her word, shifting onto his knees and hitching her legs higher, then carefully positioned himself and entered her with one hard thrust. She gasped at the first moment of penetration and closed her eyes as her body stretched to accommodate him. He froze in place, concerned that he'd been too forceful. "Molly –"

"No, it's good, Mycroft," she murmured, opening her eyes while her fingers played with the hair at his nape, "so good."

Mycroft continued to stare at Molly as he flexed his hips, pulling back and thrusting forward, settling into an easy rhythm until she changed the angle by hitching one leg higher around him and sliding her other foot over his bottom and then lower to the back of his thigh. Mycroft's breathing quickened and his eyelids dropped when Molly rocked more vigorously, lifting herself higher against him. He shifted his weight forward, straightening his arms, and ground himself more firmly against her on each downward thrust. Molly grabbed Mycroft's shoulders, fingers digging in, breath quickening until they both were loudly panting as they rushed headlong toward an explosive finish. Molly fell off the edge first, gasping for breath as another orgasm ripped through her. Mycroft grunted through several more thrusts, groaning when her body tightened around his cock, clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing, and so continuing until he pressed deep and sighed raggedly, muscles trembling as he collapsed on top of Molly and pressed his face against the side of her throat. After a couple of moments, he muttered an apology and shifted to roll off of her, but Molly wrapped her arms and legs more tightly around him.

Lying there pressed together, listening to the heavy rasp of each other's breathing, feeling the rapid thrumming of the other's heart, may have been more intimate than the act itself, Molly thought.

Mycroft's chest heaved as he raised his head and pressed his lips to her ear. "Are you all right, my dear?" At Molly's nod, he slipped out of her and rolled onto his back, both arms flung overhead as his breathing and heart rate gradually returned to normal. He finally turned his head toward hers on the pillow. "Thank you, Molly Hooper," he said, then continued more slowly. "This was … unexpected."

Molly turned her head and met his eyes. After a few moments, she asked, "And unwelcome?"

A brief shake of his head. "Unexpected." Mycroft held her eyes a few more moments, then he turned away and reached for his phone on the table. "I have to go," he said more briskly and without looking at her.

Molly watched him leave the bed, biting her bottom lip until she heard the shower start a few minutes later. She suddenly froze, then slowly ran her tongue over her lips, tasting Mycroft and experiencing a moment of disbelief even though she knew he was naked in the next room at that very moment. She drew her tongue back into her mouth and smiled to herself, then reached her arms overhead and pointed her toes in a full-body stretch. She released a long breath as she relaxed her muscles and settled deeper into the bed. She should move, she thought … clean herself up and put on pajamas, but she couldn't. Not while _he_ was still there.

So Molly waited, taking stock, ultimately focusing on the tenderness between her legs. She'd been thoroughly fucked, _deliciously_ so … and by Mycroft Holmes of _all_ people. To think that much passion had been simmering under the surface, like a dormant volcano preparing to erupt, all so carefully disguised by his cold eyes and impassive face, the old-fashioned mannerisms and formal speech, those three-piece suits with a bloody _pocket_ watch, for _god's_ sake … The mind reeled.

Molly willed herself not to blush when the door of the ensuite opened and Mycroft stopped on the threshold to look at her. Her eyes lowered to his chest and followed the pattern of chest hair downward to the edge of the towel wrapped around his hips. She quickly lifted her gaze and couldn't hide the resulting flush when she saw the quirk of his lips.

Molly watched him cross the room and suppressed a gasp when he removed the towel and draped it over the chair before bending to put on his pants and trousers. He reached for his shirt, and Molly felt the heat rise from her core at the flex of muscles in his arms and chest, the movement of skin over his ribs. He glanced her way as he started buttoning his shirt, beginning at the tail and working his way up, and held her eyes as he lifted his chin to get at the top button before reaching for his tie.

It seemed strange to Molly that Mycroft would dress so silently while seeming determined to acknowledge her interest. _Was_ it strange? _Why_ was it strange? Was _anything_ Mycroft Holmes did unintentional? Molly said nothing, for once able to overcome her need to fill any tense silence with nervous chatter.

Mycroft tucked in his shirt, zipped his trousers and fastened his belt, then turned toward her mirror, bending his knees a bit as he quickly knotted his tie, then smoothed it over his chest. He moved back around the end of the bed and sat on the edge, stooping over to pull on his socks and shoes. Molly lay silently, wondering how much he regretted that he'd stayed. When he'd finished with one foot, he turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. Whatever thoughts he had were hidden, and Molly just wished she had as effective a shield. She dropped her eyes and turned her head away, listening to the silence, feeling the stillness, a moment out of time ... then the bed shifted as he returned to his task.

Molly abruptly sat up and scooted on her bottom to lean against the headboard. Was Mycroft usually so forceful? _No,_ she thought. With each hesitation, each attempt he'd made to slow down, Molly had goaded him on, but now she stared at his back and the disbelief from earlier returned. "Mycroft …" He turned to look at her as he rose to his feet, then bent to pick up his pocket watch from bedside table. "I'm through with romantic dreams," she said quietly, "but not with sex."

He held her eyes as he tucked his pocket watch away, then picked up his cufflinks and fastened each sleeve. He picked up his phone, then paused. "I'll call you."

 _No you won't,_ she thought. "Why? This didn't mean anything," she finally said aloud. "What more is there to say?"

I'll call you," he repeated evenly, then turned away and went through the bedroom door, closing it behind him after pausing to let the cat slip past him.

As Molly cuddled Toby and waited to hear the flat's door close, she could picture Mycroft retrieving his jacket from the kitchen chair, then moving to the entry to don his outer garments. A few minutes later, she heard the distant click of the latch. _I'll call you._ She shifted lower in the bed and, after fleetingly considering the need for pajamas, pulled the covers up. Had that been a promise? Simply Mycroft's attempt to exit a sticky situation? Either way, Molly didn't believe him.

Theirs had been a chance encounter - unplanned, unprecedented … to be forgotten and never repeated - between two people who'd been given an unexpected opportunity to set aside the rest of the world for a while. And had taken it.


	2. A Promise Kept

Mycroft Holmes strode at a brisk pace but with his usual fluid motion across the busy reception hall, up the sweeping arc of stairs, and down the wide corridor, his long legs eating up the distance while his personal assistant quickstepped behind him. He was aware at some level that the path ahead abruptly cleared as people saw him coming … those few who knew him, or knew _of_ him, and generally assumed they had good reason to avoid drawing his attention … others who'd simply caught a glimpse of his stony expression and hard-set mouth and promptly scuttled out of an abundance of caution.

Mycroft eventually paused outside an imposing set of heavily paneled doors, giving Anthea a moment to catch up before he reached for the handle. By the time the doors closed behind them, the sleek blonde sitting at an elegant writing desk on the far side of the outer office was on her feet and greeting them with a coolly professional smile. "Good morning, Mr. Holmes. Please go right in … she's expecting you."

Anthea watched as her boss gave the interior door a triple tap with his umbrella handle before swinging the door open.

 _"_ _My_ croft." The husky greeting rang out from deep within the office.

"Lady Smallwood." His even tone was polite, but with no reciprocation of that hint of pleasure both PAs had detected in the security official's greeting.

Cynthia's gaze shifted to Anthea's as the door shut behind Mycroft with a quiet click. "Tea?"

#####

Anthea stood when the inner door opened half an hour later. Mycroft's gaze met hers and Anthea quickly gathered her things, thanked Cynthia and made a beeline for the outer door. Mycroft's expression might appear pleasant enough to the uninitiated, but his eyes looked dead.

As their car smoothly merged into the mid-morning traffic, Mycroft sat looking out the window, legs crossed, seemingly relaxed, but from the corner of her eye Anthea noticed the slight flexing of his foot. "Sir?" She had counted to five by the time Mycroft turned to look at her, eyebrows raised questioningly, and she immediately regretted breaking what had been a relatively companionable silence. "Is Lady Smallwood willing to present your proposal to the Home Secretary?"

Mycroft faced forward again, then replied after a few moments in a soft, even voice, "Not when I'm unable to assure her that my brother would actually comply with its terms." His foot flexed again after having briefly paused while he'd considered his answer. Her boss, she thought, was furious.

"Surely that's not unexpected, sir." Anthea bit her lip when Mycroft's foot stilled again.

"Unexpected," he repeated slowly. "No, not unexpected."

#####

 _Unexpected._ Mycroft mused on the word again several hours later as he sat back from his laptop and settled deeper into his desk chair. _Of all the people in the world with whom to … 'thaw,'_ he grimaced, well aware of the soubriquet he'd earned around the corridors of Whitehall and in certain corners of the world beyond. _All it took was a pair of warm brown eyes and the curious touch of a gentle hand for the Ice Man's usual self-control to fail and without any real attempt to regain it._

For Mycroft to have participated in an impromptu sexual encounter was improbable to say the least, but even more inconceivable was that it had been Molly Hooper who'd slipped through the temporary crack in his defenses and kindled such an ardent response. She had the distinction of being one of the few people who had truly surprised him in recent years. _Sherlock's most accommodating goldfish._ Mycroft felt a twinge of self-reproach at that characterization. The feeling intensified when he considered his promise to call her. Was she still expecting a call from him a week on? Had it actually been a promise? Wasn't it simply what one said to exit such a situation gracefully?

Mycroft sighed. It had been a promise.

#####

"Hello?"

"Miss Hooper?"

Silence.

Mycroft checked the screen, then returned the mobile to his ear in time to hear Molly finally respond. "Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft wasn't used to being wrong-footed, and it took him a moment to change tack. "Molly?"

"Mycroft." At least her tone was less frosty.

He stopped himself from clearing his throat. "Are you well, my dear?"

"I am," she said evenly. "And you?"

"Fine." Another silence. Mycroft was a bit nonplussed at Molly's cool reception since they'd parted on friendly enough terms ... rather an understatement, he thought, considering the passion and enthusiasm with which she'd taken him into her -

"Do you need something, Mycroft? It's just that I'm at the lab and –"

"Of course you are," he said briskly, ignoring the tingling warmth at the tips of his ears. "No, but I had promised to call –"

"And now you have," she broke in, equally briskly, then added after a moment, "I'm sorry, Mycroft, but if you're sure you don't need anything –"

"You have to go," Mycroft finished for her and returned the mobile to his pocket after they exchanged brief goodbyes. He thought there'd been a touch of curiosity in Molly's voice at the end, but no real interest. Then again, he didn't know her well enough to be sure. And he never would.

Mycroft had done what he'd promised and that, as they say, was that.

#####

Molly looked up at the knock on her open door and waved her hand toward the chair across from her desk. "What can I do for you, John," she asked, smiling as she set her pen down. "Are you here on your own?" Her brow creased at seeing the obvious strain on his face.

John shook his head grimly. "No, but I thought I'd let them get the initial war of words out of the way, plus I wanted to warn you."

"Warn me about what?"

"Sherlock's been – um, he's been a bit out of sorts lately so don't take it personally if he's even more unpleasant than usual."

Molly stilled as John's "them" finally filtered through her brain. She froze when she heard Sherlock's quick footsteps nearing the door, tilting her head as she listened for a second pair of feet, then straightened, relieved, at not hearing them. "Hello, Sherlock."

"Molly." He didn't look at her, but instead scowled at John. "Why are you just sitting there? Why didn't you bring Molly to the morgue?"

"I just got here, you great git –"

"You abandoned me to deal with Mycroft alone," Sherlock broke in, huffing in annoyance.

Molly deliberately knocked her pen to the floor and then slowly bent to retrieve it, stomach clenching as she fought to hide her sudden lightheadedness. She hoped both men were too busy glaring at each other to notice anything amiss.

Sherlock released a long breath, then jerked his thumb toward the open door. "Would the two of you come _on!"_

"Sorry, Molly," John said, getting to his feet as Sherlock stalked out with a swirl of his Belstaff. He frowned when he got a good look at her. "Are you all right? Do you need me to get you a drink of water?"

"I'm fine, John – just felt a bit lightheaded when I bent over," she said, smiling ruefully. "I've been so busy I forgot to have lunch."

 _"_ _JOHN! MOLLY!"_

Molly rolled her eyes as she rounded her desk and preceded John out the door, bracing herself to meet Mycroft again. And in front of his all-too-observant brother.

#####

Molly moved to the other side of the post-mortem table, glancing toward Mycroft without meeting his eyes, "Excuse me, Mr. Holmes."

"Oh for _god's_ sake, Molly! Mycroft's not going to bite you," Sherlock groused, then scowled at his brother. "Unless you drizzled your body with ganache and even then it'd be highly unlikely that brother dear would willingly have masticatory contact with a _woman."_

Sherlock's eyes were focused on his brother so he missed the startled glance Molly threw at him before staring wide-eyed at Mycroft. How could Sherlock be so blind? The skill and ease Mycroft had displayed when pleasuring Molly didn't just happen instinctively – it came from experience. Molly suddenly realized Sherlock had gone off on another tangent and Mycroft was returning her stare, his face set in its usual neutral lines, but his eyes … _oh dear god_. Molly lowered her gaze and turned back to the body, trying to focus on what Sherlock was saying. Instead, all she could think of was how Mycroft's skin had felt pressed to hers in the aftermath of sex, how a fine sheen of sweat had caused his chest hair to curl, how his ragged breathing in the crook of her neck had sent shivers down her spine.

Mycroft was standing behind her at a discreet distance, hands folded on the handle of his umbrella, but Molly felt smothered … as if he was crowding her, as if he was close enough for his body heat to surround her. Was it her imagination that his eyes were boring a hole in her spine -

"Molly?"

Molly started at Sherlock's annoyed inquiry, then shook off the distraction and focused her full attention on him. "'Masticatory?' _Ewww,_ Sherlock."

He looked at her incredulously. "What _are_ you going on about, Molly – get over here."

#####

Two days later, Molly stopped on the pavement outside the pub where she was meeting some friends for lunch and turned to look at the shiny black four-door saloon that had pulled to a stop a few feet away from her. As she watched, the window slowly lowered to reveal Mycroft's driver, whose gaze met hers for a moment before his hand emerged from the car holding a small envelope between index and middle fingers. "Miss Hooper?"

Molly stepped forward, gingerly took the crisp white envelope in a manner to ensure she wouldn't touch his fingers, and then stepped back. She glanced at the driver, but he'd turned his head to face forward. She hesitated a few moments, then carefully opened the flap and pulled out a white calling card in a high quality cardstock, wove finish, with **MH** engraved in black lettering in the upper left corner and an engraved phone number centered on the card. She turned it over. A note in black ink written in a slanted masculine hand said, "Call on me at any time should you need my assistance."

Molly slid the card back into its envelope and tapped it against her thigh. She then glanced up and to the side, directly at the nearest CCTV camera, before turning to cross the pavement and enter the pub. Once inside, she slipped the card into a zippered pocket in her handbag, then made her way through the crowded room to her friends' table.

#####

The next morning, Molly set her hairbrush down and raised a hand toward the card she'd wedged inside the frame of the vanity table mirror. She flipped up the corner, studied the handwriting on the back, and then smoothed the card against the cool glass before dropping her hand and turning away.

Having to cope with the drama and frenetic activity of _one_ Holmes brother on a semi-regular basis was stressful enough. Not to mention Sherlock's rather Byronic good looks … which had, she thought with surprise, lost most of their power over her of late. All it took to spoil their effect these days was for Sherlock to open his mouth and speak.

On the other hand, further exposure to Mycroft's surprisingly intense sexual allure could prove fatal to her recently acquired equanimity. She wouldn't put herself at risk of falling for Mycroft, no matter how blissful experiencing _la petite mort_ with him again might be.

#####

Molly found herself staring at the blasted card the next evening, but was able to distract herself with one of her favorite DVDs.

The following night, she'd entered the first five digits of Mycroft's number before angrily swiping the screen, muting the phone and going to bed. After two hours, she was still clutching the extra pillow to her and staring at the ceiling, by then left with imagining the worst-case scenarios if she simply gave in to temptation and called Mycroft.

In the end, Molly's resolve failed at a most inconvenient time. _Atrocious_ even, she thought. Half past eleven on a Wednesday night, the middle of the workweek, and yet …

 _Tea?_

There was no way Mycroft would see her text, or, if he did, no way that he'd respond to it so late at night – then Molly gasped, startled by the text alert.

 _When?_

One typed word from Mycroft and Molly's breathing escalated almost to the point of hyperventilation. She paced across the sitting room and back again, trying to calm down. A minute passed before she tried to type on the mobile's keyboard, which had obviously shrunk to half-size based on the difficulty her fingers were having at pressing the correct keys.

 _Now?_

She immediately regretted the impractical reply and almost followed it up with a "sorry-just-kidding." Two extremely long minutes elapsed and then –

 _An hour?_

 _Fine. Will leave a key on the lintel._

Molly spent the first ten minutes mulling over the unexpected turn of events, then suddenly yelped and hurried to the bedroom. After a quick change of sheets, a fluff of pillows, dirty clothes tossed in the laundry basket, she grabbed a fresh pair of shorty pajamas and her dressing gown and headed for the shower. Twenty minutes later, she took a quick inventory of the pantry and refrigerator, identifying several choices of drinks and nibbles and confirming she had breakfast makings if the need should arise.

With ten minutes to spare, she returned to the bedroom to brush her hair. Having time to consider her appearance in the mirror, and thus to suffer significant angst over it, only confirmed that the impromptu nature of their previous time together had made it a lot less nerve-racking. Her head jerked to the side when she heard the three light taps, then the sound of the key in the door. She gave herself one last wild-eyed glance, then tried to stroll casually toward the entry.

"Hello," she said – nonchalantly, she hoped.

Mycroft hung his umbrella on a hook then turned to her with a brief smile. "Good evening, Molly," he said as he unwound his scarf.

Molly ran her eyes down his overcoat and dark gray trousers and noticed the suit bag on the floor by his feet. "What's that?"

"A fresh suit," he said, lifting a brow.

"You're taking a lot for granted –"

"Am I?" When Molly flushed, he continued. "Your text wasn't clear as to whether the invitation was for a quick cuppa or for a more lengthy meal," he said thoughtfully. When he continued, his tongue was most definitely in his cheek. "Doing justice to a proper high tea takes a considerable amount of time, and I have to be at the office very early."

Molly deliberately turned away, her flush deepening when he started to remove his overcoat. "May I?" She asked, not waiting for a response before removing his umbrella from the hook and fingering its handle curiously. She'd upended it and was inspecting the tip when Mycroft slipped his arms around her from behind and carefully took the umbrella from her. Once he'd placed it back on the hook, he lightly encircled Molly with his arms and rested his chin on her shoulder, then said, "You need to be careful, my dear. My umbrella has a sensitive release mechanism and can spring open unexpectedly and catch you by surprise."

Molly's breathing quickened. "Do you really want me to make tea?"

"It's too late, don't you think," Mycroft said, then loosened his arms when Molly twisted around to face him. When she stared up at him, he felt the same loss of restraint as before, and then his hands were in her hair, tilting her head back, studying her face as her eyes widened and her color rose … and then they were in each other's arms, claiming each other's lips in sudden urgency. When they finally pulled away to breathe, Molly gasped against his throat, "Oh _god_ … _what are we doing? How is this possible?"_

Mycroft pulled her mouth back to his, and both of them moaned. When Molly lifted onto her toes and slid her arms around his neck, Mycroft dragged his hands down her back and over her bottom, and then caused Molly to gasp when his hands moved even lower and curved under her cheeks and between her legs. He picked her up and she did as he urged, separating her legs and then crossing her ankles around his back when he lifted her against him … and there they paused, foreheads pressed together, breathing unsteadily.

After a few moments, Mycroft's chest rose when he took a deep breath and straightened, shifting his hands under Molly's bottom and hitching her high enough to lay her head on his shoulder. "We're still in the entry," he observed, sounding amused.

Molly lifted her head and glanced around before meeting his eyes. "So we are," she said, then lifted her brows. "Do you need an invitation to take me to bed?" Mycroft kissed her again, then started walking across the sitting room, and Molly found being carried against him like that highly arousing, as was being kissed by him, breathing the same air … Her fingers loosened the knot of his tie, then pulled the ends free so she could undo the top buttons of his shirt. She spread his collar open and rubbed her nose against the hollow of his throat and then breathed deeply. _"Mmm,_ you smell so good," she said before pressing several kisses against his skin.

Mycroft maneuvered them through the bedroom door while blocking the efforts of Toby to get around him, then shut the door with his foot and crossed to the bed, lowering Molly to the edge. She raised her hands to unbuckle his belt and push the button of his trousers through its hole, then fell back on the bed and stretched her arms to the sides, arching a brow.

Mycroft undressed less carefully than before, most likely because he had a change of suit this time, she thought. When he was down to his pants, he leaned forward to take Molly's hands and pull her into a sitting position. "Do you need help with your pajamas?" Molly huffed, then grabbed the hem of her top and pulled it over her head before glancing up at him. She flushed when she saw he was studying her breasts, then quickly lifted her bottom and slid her sleep shorts off before tossing them with the top to the floor behind her. She caught her breath when he pushed his pants down and his cock sprung free. She started to reach for him, but he ran his hand down the outside of her right thigh and under her knee and basically flipped her over … quite slowly and gently to be sure, but she didn't know it was happening until she was on her stomach.

Molly held her breath, waiting for his next move, then released it in a rush when Mycroft climbed onto the bed and shifted onto his knees beside her. He curved his hands around her shoulders, then worked his way down her upper back, massaging her with firm pressure until he took hold of her waist and lifted her up and onto her knees and then urged her backward until she was sitting on his thighs. He then slid his hands around her waist and cupped her breasts in his palms, pressing her back against his chest as he gently squeezed and massaged her, then caught her nipples between his thumbs and fingers. When he nuzzled her nape and nibbled his way around the side of her neck and across her shoulder, Molly shivered and then shifted to grind down onto one of his thighs. She could feel him pressing against the small of her back but couldn't reach him, and then her breath caught when he released her breast and slid that hand down the middle of her torso to work his hand between her thighs. "Mycroft," she moaned, _"please_ let me touch you."

 _"_ _Shhh …,"_ he murmured by her ear, sending another shiver down her spine. "Spread your knees a little." She did and he scissored his fingers between her folds, rubbing and pressing deep, until Molly arched back against him with a guttural groan and began to undulate her pelvis … rubbing herself against his hand, breath quickening. Mycroft hurriedly pulled his fingers out of her and let go of her breast to take hold of her waist again. He lifted her onto her knees as he straightened onto his, then slowly bent over her, pressing her forward to brace herself on her hands, and Molly gave a low moan when the hard length of his penis was suddenly aligned properly and she could finally rub against him. He stretched a hand to the bedside table and grabbed a condom, then used his thigh to spread hers wider and positioned himself more fully between her legs. He slowly penetrated her, then flexed his hips and thrust more firmly upwards until he was fully seated. Molly arched her back and tilted her hips further when he began a rocking motion. "Oh _god,_ Mycroft," she moaned as he used his weight to push her upper body lower onto the mattress, thus increasing the arch of her hips, and rocked into her more forcefully. _"Ohgodohgodohgod,"_ she panted in time with his thrusts, pushing back hard against him, their skin slapping together. He gripped the sides of her hips and lifted her higher into his thrusts, briefly slowing to deliberate snaps of his pelvis, grunting with the effort. Molly's breath caught when he pressed closer to slide his hand down her belly and between her legs, fingers stroking her where they were joined and encircling her hardened nub rhythmically as he returned to a fast steady pace. He abruptly changed pace again to short hard thrusts and Molly cried out, her body shaking, breath shuddering. Mycroft pulled his fingers away from her and clutched her hips in a hard grip and pulled almost all the way out, then thrust deep to the hilt, and repeated it, then again, chest heaving as he panted, and then the orgasm ripped through him and tried to take the top of his head with it. He dropped his hands to the bed, bracing himself straight-armed as he pressed his sweaty chest to her back and tried to catch his breath. "Are you all right," he rasped, and Molly nodded from her head-down position, still panting. After a few moments, Mycroft pushed himself higher and rolled off of Molly, briefly sitting on the side of the bed to remove and tie off the condom, and then collapsing flat on his back, chest still heaving. Molly finally collapsed onto her stomach, face turned to the side to breathe.

When his breathing slowed, Mycroft rolled onto his side, and stroked a hand down Molly's back. She turned her head to look at him. "If I fall asleep, don't leave without waking me. That would make me feel like I should look for cash on the bedtable."

The crease appeared between his brows, but he lifted his chin. "All right."

Molly's breathing evened out and she slid her arms under the pillow, closing her eyes with a tired but satisfied sigh. "Good night, Mycroft … try to get some sleep." She opened her eyes to look at him as a thought occurred. "Sherlock was wrong yet again. You _did_ get in a bit of masticatory contact with my neck." She closed her eyes again, smiling to herself at his snort.

#####

Mycroft had already taken a shower and was almost ready to leave at half past five. He was sitting on the edge of the bed putting on his shoes when Molly scooted over and pressed her bare breasts against his back. "What do you want from me, Mycroft," she asked. "Do you want to keep meeting like this?"

He straightened and shifted on the bed, twisting until he faced her. "I can't make myself available that often, and when I do it might be strange hours like this, or I might get called away in the middle of an evening's proceedings," he said. "If you're willing to put up with that, then yes I would like to keep meeting occasionally." He studied her expression for a few moments, then asked, "But what about you, Molly – what do you want from me?"

"More of this," she said, "just this kind of time with you that's set apart from everything else, that no one but us knows about." She lowered her forehead to his upper arm. "I don't need a boyfriend," she said, grimacing at the term, "but I'd be happy to have a secret lover. That sounds frightfully sophisticated," she said, smiling as she lifted her head. "Do you think it's wrong for this to be about the sex?"

"No," he said, then rose to his feet. "I have to go." He bent to pick up his phone from the table, then paused and more carefully picked up the key to Molly's flat. "Here," he said, offering it to her.

"Keep it," she said.

Mycroft turned the key between his fingers, then slid his other hand into his trouser pocket and brought out a key ring with three keys on it. His eyes met Molly's as he added her key to the ring and returned it to his pocket before stooping to give her a brief kiss. "Thank you, Molly Hooper," he said, then straightened and turned toward the door. "Don't get up. I can let myself out." He glanced back, hand on the door knob. "Good night, Molly."

Molly shook her head. "Good _morning,_ Mycroft," she said, with a slow smile. "It's already the start of a new day."


	3. Wet Work

Molly Hooper was enjoying a lazy Sunday morning, huddled under a cuddly throw on the sofa, her cat sprawled over her feet, while watching the end of one of her guilty pleasures, _"Sleepless in Seattle."_ Or re-watching … for the tenth time, at the very least. She jumped at the sound of her text alert and shifted to retrieve the mobile from where it had slipped underneath her.

 _\- Good morning. Any plans for today?_

 _\- Just hanging out at the flat. Morning!_

 _\- Can be available tonight._

 _\- Any time's fine._

#####

At half past eleven that morning, Mycroft Holmes came out of his office, carrying his umbrella and briefcase, and stopped by his PA's desk. He waited for Anthea to shut down her computer, don her outerwear and grab her handbag and mobile, then held the door for her to precede him into the corridor. As they walked across the front lobby, Mycroft thanked her for a good morning's work and inclined his head at the officers covering the security checkpoint. When they stepped out of the building and into the sub-freezing cold, Anthea was delighted to see the bright sunshine and gave her boss a big smile, which he returned with a brief one before they parted ways.

Mycroft allowed himself a deep sigh once he'd settled in the back of his car. After three long days and nights of attempting to chase down an apparent phantom, he was looking forward to getting home and enjoying some downtime that would, at some point, include a well-deserved whisky by the fire in his study and several hours immersed in a favorite selection from his library. He leaned his head against the back of the seat, closed his eyes and released another long breath. After several minutes of considering his plans for the afternoon and early evening before he'd need to leave for Molly's that night, Mycroft suddenly sat forward and met his driver's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Turn around," he said.

"Where we are going, sir?"

"Miss Hooper's."

#####

By the time Mycroft's driver left him at Molly's, it was almost noon. He gave his customary taps on her door, but then let himself in with his key, calling Molly's name as he hung the umbrella on a hook and began removing his outer garments. There was no reply, but he heard a couple of bumps from somewhere in the flat.

Mycroft draped his scarf over his coat and lowered his eyes to the cat who'd suddenly appeared around the corner. After an unresolved staring contest, Mycroft hitched his trouser legs up and lowered himself into a crouch. "Toby, isn't it?" The cat's hackles relaxed but he came no closer. "It's probably best that we learn to get along if we're going to be seeing each other on a regular basis." When Toby ventured closer, Mycroft reached out a hand and gave him a scratch behind the ear. The cat promptly moved in for more, but after a quick scratch under his chin, Mycroft rose to his feet. "No need to get too chummy," he said, then grimaced at the realization that he was talking to a cat, and promptly continued without thinking, "Where's your mistress?" He tilted his head when he heard another distant bump, followed by the sound of the shower. _Ah._

He stepped into the sitting room and glanced around. Evidence of Molly's morning activities was abundant … open DVD covers on the sofa, newspaper dropped untidily beside it … half-filled mug of tea. She'd left a wok on the worktop and what looked like preparations for a stir fry on the cutting board … red and yellow peppers, a red chili, pack of Thai noodles, a lime, sesame seeds … and fresh chicken strips and runner beans in the refrigerator. It certainly wouldn't offer the type of gustatory pleasure they'd get from what he'd been going to order in for their lunch, but it would do.

Mycroft quietly entered the bedroom, arched a brow at Toby and quickly closed the door before the cat could slip past him, then tossed his jacket over a chair and toed off his shoes. He placed his pocket watch, chain and cufflinks on the bedside table, then quickly removed the rest of his clothes and arranged them over the chair … making a mental note to get Molly a proper valet stand. He crossed to the bathroom door and quietly opened it, then took an abrupt step back when Molly screamed. "It's all right, Molly," he said loudly.

 _"_ _MYCROFT!"_ She jerked the shower curtain aside, frowning quite ferociously. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing sneaking in here?"

Mycroft's brows lowered and a deep crease appeared between them. "I sent you a text that I was on the way."

"I didn't see it," she huffed, staring at him from above where the edge of the curtain was still bunched in her fists. After several tense moments, she ran her eyes over him, then she slowly smiled as her fingers relaxed. "Are you going to join me?"

"That was my plan," he said, arching a brow as he reached for the shower curtain. Molly moved back and he stepped over the tub's rim and into the stream of warm water. His wet hands slipped around her back and hips and he pulled her into a hard embrace, his lips firm and demanding on hers. Molly accepted his demand and returned it in equal measure, gripping his shoulders and pressing her breasts tightly to his chest, then sliding her arms around his neck as far as she could reach on her tiptoes. Molly moaned a protest when he pulled back to take a breath. He raised a hand to smooth some wet strands of hair off her face, then claimed her lips again, delving deep, as he wrapped her more closely in his arms. Molly finally pulled back, panting as she met his eyes, her hands shifting to clasp the sides of his waist, then she lowered her eyes, watching the rivulets of water chase themselves down his chest. She kissed his sternum, thrilled at the heavy throb of his heart under her lips, then dragged her mouth to his left nipple, licking it before closing her lips around the hardened nub.

Molly gasped and her head fell back when Mycroft slid his hands lower and squeezed her bottom, pulling her more tightly against him. His mouth dropped onto hers again and their tongues danced against each other, rubbing and circling, then finally thrusting deep. Without breaking the kiss, Molly shifted enough to slide her hand between them, rubbed a circle on his stomach, then moved lower to run her fingers teasingly over his cock before making a fist around it. She ran her hand up and down his length as they continued to kiss until Mycroft caught her wrist and gently tugged her away. "Not yet," he said, letting go of her hand so he could cup the back of her head and pull her into another kiss. Another minute of that and she moaned, twisting her head away to catch her breath, then lurching forward again, kissing his throat as her hands slid along his ribs and around to clutch him to her. When his chin nudged her forehead, she let her head fall back and they kissed again, seemingly as hungry for it as they'd been for the first.

Mycroft finally straightened, meeting her eyes as his chest rose and fell with his deep breaths, and Molly felt her knees wobble. "Mycroft …," she breathed – nothing more, just his name, but the heat simmering in his gaze flamed brighter just before he took a firm hold of her shoulders and turned her around, then pulled her flush against him, her back to his chest, his hands flattened on her midriff. Molly turned her head to look up at him questioningly, and his eyes held hers as one hand slid up to cup her breast and the other slid down, over her belly, then between her thighs. Molly flushed, feeling the warmth spread from her middle and up her chest and throat until her cheeks felt like they were burning. She closed her eyes on a low moan when he gently pinched her sensitive flesh between two fingers and caressed her with a scissoring motion. Her knees buckled and he quickly lowered his other hand from her breast to her stomach to hold her more firmly against him. "All right?" he asked after a moment. When Molly nodded, Mycroft wrapped both arms around her middle and turned them around by rocking side to side until Molly was in the stream of water. She spluttered and quickly turned her head when the spray ricocheted and hit her in the face, and Mycroft laughed under his breath as he raised a hand to adjust the showerhead. "Sorry," he said, cocking his head to kiss her forehead. "I forget how short you are." He suppressed another laugh when she scowled at that. "And how abnormally tall I am," he added, deadpan.

"Better," she said, then gasped when he made another adjustment that increased the strength of the spray.

He let go of the showerhead and carded his fingers through Molly's hair, tilting her face to the side. "Trust me," he said, giving her a kiss before pressing her cheek against his chest. He slid his hand down her throat and upper chest before cupping her breast, then shifted backwards while watching the stream of water.

 _"_ _Oooooh,"_ Molly moaned just as Mycroft paused, and he smiled to himself. He lowered his hand to her midriff and slowly turned them to the right, then swayed back to the left, and Molly's _"ooooh"_ became more guttural as the water played over her nipples. Mycroft gave Molly a moment to get used to the feeling, then slid a hand over her stomach. "Can you prop your foot on the rim?" Molly shivered at the question murmured by her ear, but shifted her weight onto her right leg and pressed her back harder against him before lifting her left foot to the tub's edge. She groaned as his fingers curved between her legs, again rubbing and gently pinching her flesh between his fingers. Mycroft used his other hand to cup the underside of her left breast and rubbed her nipple with his thumb, and the contrast between that and the water hitting it when his thumb moved aside made gooseflesh rise across her chest. Molly arched against Mycroft's chest and the muscles in her legs trembled when his fingers gently worked their way between her slick folds. Her breathing got heavier when he crooked two fingers and slid them into her, thrusting gently until her breath caught on a shuddering sob. _"Oh god …"_ He stiffened his fingers and pressed more deeply, rubbing more firmly against her, and continued until she cried out – and he had to catch her against him when her foot slid off the tub's edge and her knees gave way.

Mycroft shifted Molly's weight until he could let go for long enough to turn off the tap, then pushed the shower curtain aside and picked her up before carefully stepping over the rim and onto the mat. He glanced around the bathroom, then moved to the vanity and carefully sat Molly on its edge while reaching for a large towel. He wrapped the towel around her and drew the edges tightly together under her chin, holding it until her hands replaced his, then reached for a second towel. He lifted her hair and slipped the towel under and around it, then squeezed the towel between his hands from her nape to the ends, blotting the excess water.

Molly had been watching him while trying to catch her breath and now tilted her head back to stare at his face accusingly. The corners of his lips turned up in a tentative smile, and she shook her head. "What have you done to me, Mycroft Holmes."

"It wasn't good?"

She huffed, which sounded more like a wheeze since she hadn't quite got her breath back. "It was bloody _brilliant,_ as you damned well know," she said, then ran her eyes down his body as he reached for another towel. "But what about you?"

His brows lifted in surprise as he rubbed the towel over his chest. "There's no deadline today. I'm not planning to leave anytime soon."

Molly hoped she'd hidden the thrill that raced through her. "That's good," she said lightly, watching as he bent to dry his legs. "You can help me make lunch."

"That wasn't my first priority," he said drily as he wrapped the towel around his waist.

Molly's eyes lowered to where his towel was tented. "Obviously," she said, pulling the towel off her head before she slid off the vanity. She turned to the mirror and worked her fingers through her hair, removing the worst of the tangles, and blotted the ends again with the towel. "Come on," she said, tossing both of her towels over the shower rod, then headed for the bedroom.

Molly waited until Mycroft followed her, then flicked her hand at the side of the bed. "Sit," she said, then raised her brows when he didn't immediately comply. "Sit down, Mycroft … please." He brushed past her and turned around before – "Wait a minute." He straightened his knees again and Molly loosened his towel and tossed it on the floor. "Now sit," she said, then sped up the process by putting a hand on his chest and pushing until he fell back on the mattress. He was in the process of sitting up when she clambered onto his lap and shoved him down again before straddling his waist. Before he could say anything, she curled over him, kissing the center of his chest and slowly kissing her way toward his neck. She took her time at the base of his throat, dipping her tongue into its hollow, then licking a stripe up the side of his neck. When she reached his ear, she gently bit his lobe, then deliberately whispered right into his ear canal, "It's my turn" – which, as she expected, caused a quiver to run through him. She kissed a path along his jawline, then lightly bit his chin before lifting her head to look at him. Their eyes held for several moments, but when he lifted his hand to the back of Molly's head, she shook it off. "No helping," she said, "I'm in charge." When he dropped his hand, she lowered her head and carefully fitted her mouth over his, aligning their lips just so, then cupped the sides of his head, slipping her fingers into his hair as she increased the pressure. She lifted a fraction and ran her tongue along the seam of his lips until he relaxed his jaw, then hollowed her cheeks and sucked his tongue into her mouth. As she played with his tongue, she slowly tightened her fingers until she was gently tugging on his hair, then released it and lightly scratched his scalp with her fingernails, before pulling away enough to meet his eyes. "Does that hurt?"

"No," he said, breathing more quickly than usual.

Molly bent over him again, lightly sucking on his upper lip before doing the same to his lower one. She shifted down his body a bit and suppressed a smile when she felt the press of his cock against her bottom. She kissed her way down the other side of his throat, then continued down his chest to his nipples, which she took turns licking and lightly nibbling before pressing her hands against his chest and sitting up. She could feel the heavy throb of his heart under her palms and leaned back down to press a kiss right over where its beat was strongest. She then rose up on her knees and shifted lower down his body before reaching between her legs and wrapping her hand around him.

"Condom," he said, pointing at the bedtable.

"Nope," she said, sliding even further down his body, "we don't need it."

"Molly –" He broke off when she dropped her feet to the floor and propped her forearms on his thighs. "What are you –" He groaned and his hands automatically went to the back of her head when she licked a stripe up his cock before taking the tip between her lips. He lifted his head off the bed to look down at her and groaned again, from his gut, when she took more of him into her mouth, carefully massaging his frenulum with her tongue before running her tongue down the underside of the shaft. "Molly –"

Molly raised her head and gave him a stern look, while trying to ignore the fact that she was blushing. "Lie back, Mycroft, so I can concentrate."

"But -"

"Do you want me to quit?"

 _"_ _Fuck,"_ he muttered at the thought of ceding so much control, then he gave in, dropping his hands from Molly's head, and closing his eyes. He stiffened when she ran the flat of her tongue over his glans, then repeated it before taking him into her mouth again. His breathing quickened and deepened as she worked over him, wrapping her hand around the base and firmly pumping her fist in tandem with the bobbing of her head. He groaned loudly when he felt his testicles tighten and started to warn Molly, but just at that moment she returned her attentions to his frenulum, lightly teasing it with the tip of her tongue over and over in between sucking on his glans until he abruptly came with a muffled shout. Molly kept working on him until the last spasm shuddered through him, then released him from her mouth, while keeping her hand loosely wrapped around him as he softened in her grip.

Mycroft finally lifted his head to look at Molly when she didn't say anything. She was still propped on her elbows, but now looking like that proverbial cat who'd been at the cream. He lifted onto his elbows and scooted back on the bed, dragging his legs out from under her until he could bend his knees without clocking her one on the chin. He stretched out then rolled over, grabbing one of the pillows and falling face down on it.

"Mycroft?"

"Oh go … brush your teeth or something," he muttered against the pillow.

Molly climbed onto the bed and sat on her knees, staring at the back of his head. "What's wrong? Surely that wasn't …," she hesitated, then continued, "the first time you've been given a blow job?"

"No," he said with a snort, then turned his face on the pillow to look at her, "but you do it exceedingly well."

 _"_ _Really?"_ Mycroft snorted again before turning his face away and wrapping both arms around the pillow. Molly slowly grinned as she looked at him, then ran her eyes down his naked body. She backed off the bed, then leaned over and gave him a sporty slap on his bum. "Thanks, Mycroft." He muttered something into the pillow that she didn't dare ask him to repeat.

Molly slipped on her dressing gown, still watching him, then smiled to herself before picking up his towel and returning to the bathroom. She straightened up, then left by the door to the hall and went to the kitchen. She filled the kettle and flipped the switch before going to the sitting room and tidying up there. After returning the last DVD to her bookshelf, she almost tripped over Toby on her way back to the kitchen. Toby was rubbing himself against one of her legs, then the other, until she finally bent to pick him up and gave him a cuddle. "What's wrong, Tobes - are you jealous of the other man in my life?" She tickled him under the chin, then set him on the floor. _Would Mycroft object to that description?_

While she finished preparing the tea, Molly had time to think about what she'd done to Mycroft and suddenly found it almost impossible to believe she'd been so bold. She'd gone down on a man … _men_ … before, but – _oh god. Mycroft Holmes._ She drew a deep breath through her mouth and slowly released it through her nose, then went back to the bedroom and quietly closed the door behind her.

Mycroft didn't seem to have moved, and Molly decided he was actually asleep. It was no surprise that he'd crashed after keeping to such an intense work schedule for several days, then having a sudden release of tension, and finding himself on a comfortable bed. She flushed as she lifted the edge of the duvet from her side of the bed, carefully folded it toward the center, then walked around to lift it over him oh-so-slowly. She held her breath, waiting for him to move, then tiptoed out of the room.

Molly sat at the table sipping her tea, ate two Jammie Dodgers, and wondered what to do about lunch. She eyed the peppers and other things left on the cutting board and realized she'd lost most of her enthusiasm for a stir fry. She didn't have much fresh food in the flat but could make a full English breakfast … other than the mushrooms. Maybe they could order in, though she couldn't imagine Mycroft normally frequented his local Chinese takeaway or the like. When she finished her tea, she put all the lunch preparations away, then leaned against the worktop, considering their takeaway options. She'd just have to wait for Mycroft to wake up, she decided.

Molly fed Toby, adding a couple of fresh chicken strips as a treat, then went to the bathroom to work on her hair. What few tangles there were had set in when her hair dried so very careful combing was required. Once done, she pulled her hair back and braided it, then washed her face and applied moisturizer.

Back in the kitchen, she poured out the rest of the tea and started a fresh pot. By the time it was ready and she'd prepared her heaviest tea tray, an hour had passed since she checked on Mycroft. She didn't mind him sleeping longer, but figured he'd be waking soon from hunger if nothing else. She carefully maneuvered through the door to keep Toby out, then set the tray on the end of the bed, making sure it was level. Mycroft still hadn't moved, but he turned his head when she whispered his name. "Do you want some tea?" she asked her normal tone.

"Mmm, yes, thank you," he said, then rolled over to sit on the side of the bed. He stretched his arms overhead and rolled his shoulders, then got up and went to the bathroom. Molly placed their pillows against the headboard and carefully crawled onto the bed, folded her legs in front of her, and pulled the tray closer. "Just a little milk, right?" she asked when the bathroom door opened. She kept her eyes on what her hands were doing until he'd settled on the bed beside her, but saw his bare legs out of the corner of her eye before he got under the duvet and leaned against the headboard. She breathed silently through her nose, then turned to him as she offered the cup and saucer. She couldn't stop the blush that she felt warming her cheeks and moving down her throat, but tried to ignore it as she met his eyes and watched as he took his first sip. "All right?"

"Just right," he said, giving the cup his undivided attention.

Molly poured her own cup, then sat sipping it, wondering which one of them was more ill-at-ease. She was quite frankly surprised that Mycroft seemed uncomfortable, but they'd crossed some sort of line, she thought. She really hadn't considered that he'd pretty much stayed in charge during their previous encounters and his allowing her to take control may have required some sort of … _rewiring_ in his brain, which she was sure was even more impossibly complex than the average human brain. Molly cleared her throat, then turned her head toward him. "Are you ready for lunch?"

Mycroft met her eyes, then the corners of his lips turned up. _Progress,_ she thought. "Aren't the biscuits our lunch?"

Molly rolled her eyes, then sighed. "I've gone off the stir fry. Would you be all right with a takeaway?"

Mycroft eyed the Jammie Dodger curiously before eating half of it in one bite. He finally replied after he'd taken a sip of tea. "Would you allow me to take care of our meal?"

"All right," Molly said, "but what do you have in mind?"

"Would a steak suit you? Jacket potato? Fresh vegetables?"

Molly scoffed. "And where are you going to get that ordered in on a Sunday afternoon -"

"Let me worry about it. Would that menu suit you? Would you like something else?"

"No, a steak would be great," she said, not doubting he'd get it done but wondering who he'd be calling … and how much it was going to cost him. She bent forward to put her empty cup on the tray, then sat back, not sure what to do with her hands. And aware – highly aware – that Mycroft was still naked and she all but.

The silence that had briefly been companionable became less so. Molly jumped when Mycroft leaned toward her to reach the tray, then watched him set his cup and saucer on it and bend over to place the tray on the floor. She kept her eyes on his hands until he flattened them on the covers over his thighs, then slowly ran her gaze up his chest until her eyes met his. "So when are you going to place our order?"

Mycroft held her gaze while pushing the duvet aside, then reached for her right hand, which she realized had been plucking at the sheet. "Later," he said, tugging steadily on her hand. Molly resisted for a few moments, then allowed him to pull her toward him. When she was on her knees facing him, he tugged her closer until she fell against his chest, then he tilted her chin up and kissed her. Molly lifted her free hand to his shoulder then slid it around his neck. When the kiss deepened and he brought both arms around her back, Molly lifted her knee and shifted to straddle his lap. She quickly undid the knot on her dressing gown and shrugged it off her shoulders, and Mycroft pulled it the rest of the way down her arms and tossed it over the side of the bed. She slid her arms over his shoulders and braced herself against the headboard while shifting her weight from one side to the other as she unfolded her legs and tucked her feet under his pillow. He then raised his knees behind her so they were wrapped as closely together as possible while sitting upright. One kiss led to another, lips separating to breathe, then pressing together again – not particularly deeply or passionately, but simply enjoying the feeling of kissing. Mycroft sucked Molly's bottom lip between his lips and ran his tongue over it before letting it go, and Molly copied him, rather dazedly. She'd never experienced such a snogging session. He hadn't been pressuring her for anything more … yet, but she'd felt his body start to stir underneath her and before long they pulled away enough for him to help her lift up and slowly sink down on him. They went back to kissing and Molly felt overwhelmed by him, surrounded by him, her senses filled with him … and at the back of her mind, a warning light started flashing. It's just sex, it's _just_ sex _, it's just sex …_

Molly pulled back with a gasp and stared at Mycroft for several moments before surging forward again and tightening her arms around his neck as she pushed against his lips with her tongue. He opened his mouth and she instigated a duel, thrusting slowly until he took her up on it and they began to thrust and parry, circling and sucking, as their breathing quickened and the temperature in the room seemed to rise. Molly arched backwards and pulled Mycroft with her, and the next thing she knew, he'd lifted her against him and raised onto his knees to move them farther down the bed. Once they were away from the headboard, he stretched out over her and Molly wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him, and they stayed pressed together like that until Mycroft reached up to loosen her hold on his neck. He pushed up on his arms, then flexed his hips and Molly gasped. From then on, it was _sex,_ and Molly was relieved to answer his thrusts and encourage him to move faster and thrust harder and eventually they rushed headlong to a climax that left them both wrung out and clinging to each other for long breathless moments before they separated and collapsed on their own sides of the bed.

It was _sex_ … nothing more than a mutually agreeable romp between the sheets. Or on top of them.

And that's just the way Molly wanted it.

#####

It was nearing five o'clock before they both were in the kitchen. Molly had quickly pulled on a T-shirt and pair of pajama bottoms before leaving the bedroom to Mycroft. She was preparing another pot of tea when he walked in, fully dressed other than his jacket, which he draped around the back of a chair. "I didn't know if we'd want tea or not so …," she shrugged. "Would you like some wine? There are several bottles in the pantry and refrigerator."

Mycroft wasn't shy about showing his lack of appreciation for most of it, but finally set a Sancerre sauvignon blanc on the table. "That one's somewhat better than the typical plonk," he said, then snorted. "We need to work on your palate."

"No one else has complained," she said, pulling out a chair at the table and dropping onto it. Mycroft didn't deem that worthy of a response. "Did you order the food?"

"It's on the way."

The steaks were filet mignon, the jacket potatoes were perfectly baked with crispy brown skins, the vegetables were fresh asparagus and runner beans. Mycroft had ordered a cheesecake with strawberries and a strawberry glaze for afters. And two – _two_ – bottles of wine … since _obviously_ they needed a different one with the pudding. Molly figured the meal had cost him at least a week's salary for her.

It was half past six by the time they finished eating. Molly followed Mycroft to the door, watching as he shrugged into his overcoat, and then handed him his scarf. "Mycroft …"

 _"_ _Hmm?"_ He glanced at her, then put his briefcase back down at her expression. "What is it?"

"Is it all right if I _like_ you?"

"I should hope you like me," he said with a light jerk of his head toward the back of the flat, "all things considered."

"I didn't really, the first time," she said, biting her lip as the color rose in her face.

"Nor I you, but I didn't know you."

"You _still_ don't know me," she protested.

"I _see_ you now though, Molly Hooper," he said, "and I know you better."

"Are we, um, _friends_ then?"

His brows lifted. "I think so … friends of sorts, surely. Don't you?"

Molly lifted her hands to straighten his scarf, then patted his chest. "Good. I feel better when I can label things."

"And ours would be?"

"Friends with benefits," she said, smiling slowly. "If that doesn't ring a bell, try googling it."

Mycroft's eyes met hers for several moments, then his lips quirked. "I enjoyed our benefits today, Molly Hooper."

"As did I, Mycroft Holmes." She tilted her chin in invitation and he gave her a quick kiss, then reached for his umbrella with one hand and picked up his briefcase with the other. She watched until he reached the stairs, then shut the door and smiled to herself before picking up Toby and settling on the sofa. She looked through the DVDs she'd pulled earlier, chose one, then finally checked her phone while the opening credits started.

#####

Mycroft's thoughts were interrupted when his mobile vibrated ten minutes later. He glanced toward his driver as he slipped the phone out of his pocket, then suppressed a snort at Molly's very late response to his text that she'd missed earlier.

 _Coming now._ [11:42 am]

 _You certainly did, Mr. Holmes._ [6:47 pm]

As he made the turn onto Marylebone Road, Mycroft's driver glanced in the rearview mirror, then did a classic double-take, hesitating a moment before returning his attention to the late-afternoon traffic. _Must have been a trick of light,_ he thought. There was no way his stony-faced boss had been grinning to himself.

#####

NOTE: An important part of what inspired me to write "An Unexpected Refuge" (the start of my Encounters series) was hearing One Direction's "Perfect" soon after watching TAB. This section of the lyrics is what really "spoke" to me when applied to this version of Mycroft and Molly:

 _"_ _I might never be the hands you put your heart in  
or the arms that hold you any time you want them,  
But that don't mean that we can't live here in the moment  
'cause I can be the one you love from time to time."_


	4. A Source of Comfort

It had been six weeks since Molly Hooper had last seen Mycroft Holmes, three weeks since she'd last heard from him - and that had been just a brief text in response to hers. Since then she'd decided to back off for a while and to wait for him to contact her, but apparently that was never going to happen.

Molly was angry, frustrated, and a bit hurt – but mostly angry.

She and Mycroft had spent an unexpectedly lengthy, exquisitely sensual, and yet surprisingly _cozy_ Sunday afternoon together. Molly firmly believed that something about it had made Mycroft do a runner. She imagined he felt he'd exposed more of himself than was comfortable and he likely regretted getting closer to her – to admitting they were friends, if only "of sorts."

Molly wished their lovely afternoon had never happened. The pleasure Mycroft had given her had affected her like a narcotic, leaving her frustrated and desperately craving another hit as the days and weeks went by. She was angry at him for withholding it, but was also extremely angry at herself for ever having started something with the _Ice Man_ , as she'd heard him called. Unless Sherlock had been exaggerating, Molly knew Mycroft was the master of hiding in the shadows, of controlling people and events from behind the scenes, of remaining untouched by … _rising above_ the base emotions and needs that drove the majority of humanity.

Molly did give Mycroft credit for not lying to her. His reply to her second text three weeks before had consisted of five words: _Sorry - unavailable for a while._ He could easily have said he was out of the country. Then again, she thought, maybe he knew he wouldn't have got away with telling her that. Molly knew Mycroft had been around because she'd occasionally heard his name during conversations with Sherlock and John in the lab or morgue. Greg Lestrade had also mentioned him when they were discussing a case that was related in some way to the whole Moriarty mess.

So Mycroft may have been busy, but surely not so much that he couldn't have spared an hour or two during those long six weeks to visit Molly again - if he'd _wanted_ to see her.

Molly sighed as she stepped out of the shower and wrapped one towel around her hair and another around her body, tucking a corner between her breasts. She reached for her moisturizer and glanced over her shoulder in the mirror as she gently spread the lotion over her face and throat. _Damn it_ , she thought, even the _bloody_ shower brought powerful images to mind of her and Mycroft together.

Her course of action was clear. Somehow Molly had to get Mycroft Holmes out of her system.

#####

Two days later, Sherlock's voice was followed by Mycroft's just as the lab doors opened. "You're on the wrong track, Sherlock," he said with forced patience. "You don't need me here."

"You said you'd always be there – _here_ \- for me, brother dear," Sherlock said tauntingly as he strode through the door, Belstaff swirling around his legs. _"Ahhh,_ Molly," he said, veering toward the table where she was working. "Just the person I need."

Mycroft had stopped a few feet inside the door, planted the tip of his umbrella on the floor, and folded his hands on the handle. His eyes briefly met Molly's before she turned away, then dropped to his hands. Her expression had been cold, emotionless. Molly Hooper had developed a dead-eyed stare worthy of the best of his field agents, Mycroft thought, then felt a twinge of regret. More than a twinge actually, but he wouldn't have acknowledged it.

Sherlock had reached Molly's work station at that point, and their conversation filtered through Mycroft's distracted state. Molly led Sherlock to the cooler drawers and, despite Sherlock's interference, soon had the subject's body on the post mortem table. Mycroft joined them momentarily, standing back impassively, while keeping a close eye on … _Sherlock,_ and yet he was acutely aware of Molly.

Sherlock kept her busy with questions and disputing certain findings in the PM report. As on Mycroft's most recent visit, Molly flicked her gaze _toward_ him when she went around to the other side of the PM table, but avoided meeting his eyes. "Excuse me, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock scoffed. "For god's sake, Molly – he may be _old_ enough to be your father, but just call him Mycroft."

"He's not -" Molly started to protest the childish barb, but broke off. Sherlock knew there was only a decade or so difference in his brother's and her ages, and any attempt by her to defend Mycroft might cause Sherlock to be suspicious. As before, she was aware of Mycroft over her shoulder, the weight of his presence, and as the minutes passed she wanted to scream at him and ask him where he'd been and why he'd withdrawn from her ... but _that_ wasn't their arrangement. He'd said he wouldn't be available very often. The fact that they'd acknowledged themselves to be friends of sorts didn't give her any particular rights – none actually. It had been clear from the beginning that there'd be no commitments, no expectations. Mycroft's actions, or inactions, since their Sunday together had simply reinforced the fact that whatever was between them had just been sex.

When Sherlock abruptly swung away and strode toward the door, Molly saw Mycroft hesitate out of the corner of her eye as she zipped the body bag closed.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Molly," he said evenly.

Molly still didn't look at him, but paused as she released the brakes and started to roll the trolley back to the cooler. "Yes you did." She eventually shut the drawer with a loud click, then tugged off her gloves and tossed them into the bin as she passed it on the way to the door.

Once he was alone, Mycroft lowered his head and rested more of his weight on the umbrella. He couldn't deny what Molly had said. Mycroft _had_ meant to hurt her … or as he'd thought of it, to be cruel to be kind. He'd seen that she was starting to let her emotions take hold and thought an abrupt halt early on would be easier on her than a more lingering end later.

#####

When Molly left the lab, she went to her office and sat for a few minutes, pencil tapping her desk, then abruptly got up and headed to the radiology department. Mycroft had given her great sex, the best she'd ever had, and then seemingly walked away from it unaffected. She needed to try to do the same.

Two nights later, Molly started the weekend by going on a date with Christopher Nevis, a radiologist with whom she'd had a friendly acquaintance since he joined the hospital staff. When Molly had tracked Chris down the day Mycroft came to the lab, she ended up maneuvering him to invite her to dinner. Chris had occasionally attempted to move their friendly relationship toward a more romantic one, coming by the lab for a chat or sitting with her during lunch in the canteen. He was a kind, attractive, successful, _discreet_ man who enjoyed the company of women but wasn't quite ready to settle down, which perfectly suited her purposes. He'd proved quite popular with the female staff at Barts over the past few years, but she'd never heard anyone make a disparaging comment about him, nor had she ever heard him be indiscreet about any relationship with another woman. He seemed to have remained friends with all the women with whom his name had been linked. Molly knew some of the rumors had been true because the woman involved had let something slip, not Chris.

So Molly and Chris went to a nice restaurant, lightly flirted through four courses, laughed a lot, and then took a taxi back to Molly's flat, where she asked him in. She'd had two glasses of wine with dinner, but was in no way inebriated, so set a fresh bottle and glasses on the coffee table by the sofa where he was waiting for her.

While Chris opened the wine, Molly slipped her shoes off and sat, tucking her legs beside her. He handed her a glass, then sat back and took a sip from his. After a few moments, he looked at Molly just as she looked at him, and they leaned toward each other and kissed rather tentatively. They slowly separated, then smiled. Molly let Chris take her wine and watched while he placed both glasses on the coffee table. He then shifted closer and slipped his arm around her back before kissing her again. He certainly knew what he was doing, and Molly turned more fully to him and pressed closer. As they continued to kiss, she eventually ended up on his lap, and they took the kiss deeper. Chris ran his hands up and down her back and then lower to cup her bottom as he shifted to stretch out on the cushions and pull her against his chest. They were panting lightly and Molly's breath caught when Chris palmed her breast. When his other hand slipped beneath the hem of her skirt, Molly clutched the edges of his jacket and started backing off the sofa. "Come on," she said, straightening up and waiting for him to stand before leading the way to the bedroom. Molly sat on the bed while Chris toed off his shoes, then shifted over when he sat beside her. They began kissing slowly again, but within minutes were stretched out and full-out snogging, with Molly's upper body pressed against his chest as Chris slipped his hands under the hem of her skirt and slowly slid it up her thighs. She curved her hands around his neck and shifted higher just as he hooked a hand around her knee and started to pull her lower body over his. When her thigh moved over the front of his trousers, Molly froze briefly and then pressed her hands against his chest to lift away from him just as his hand started to run up the inside of her thigh.

"I'm sorry, Chris – I just can't," she said, breathing heavily.

"What," he panted, sounding confused.

"I'm sorry, Chris," she repeated, pushing back onto her knees. "I shouldn't have –"

"Shouldn't have …?"

Molly dropped her face into her hands, breathing jerkily. "I'm not _over_ him!"

Still breathing heavily, Chris let her go, and Molly hated herself for having so aroused him. The entire fiasco was her fault, all because she wanted to prove that someone else could want her, and she could want him. And now, after she'd deliberately encouraged Chris and given him every reason to believe she'd follow through, she'd cut him off. Even now, while he lay there with his eyes closed, getting his breath under control, he'd yet to offer a word of complaint despite the fact that his trousers were still tented. Molly felt awful about it – she'd never been a tease and now … maybe she could offer a handjob … She shifted toward him and reached for the button at his waist, and Chris's hand gently circled her wrist. "No," he said, opening his eyes and looking at her calmly. "You don't need to do that."

"Oh, _Chris,"_ Molly said huskily. "I am _so_ sorry. I didn't mean – it wasn't my intention … oh _god,_ Chris – I'm so sorry," she said again, then burst into tears, while flapping her hand. "Ignore me – it isn't fair to turn on the waterworks, but …," her voice faded as she again buried her face in her hands.

Chris watched her for a few moments, then rested a hand on her arm. "Do you want to talk about it, Molly?"

Molly gave a snuffling snort, then rubbed her face with her palms and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. "You want to hear me talk about another man?"

"Not really," he said drily, then smiled when she looked up at him. "I like you, Molly – I've _always_ liked you, and this isn't going to change that." He stopped and looked at her uncertainly. "Has it changed things for you?"

Molly shook her head and reached to take his free hand. "No, Chris, but it's completely my fault," she said, plucking at the material over her thigh as she dropped her chin and closed her eyes. "I didn't mean to use you – truly, Chris." She sighed and lifted her head. "I can't talk about him. We've kept it a secret and –"

"He's married," Chris broke in, sounding disapproving.

"Of _course_ not! I wouldn't do that to someone," she said. "But it's rather complicated. We don't have a normal kind of relationship –" She broke off at his arch look and rolled her eyes. "Nothing weird either, Chris. It's just that we, that we – oh for god's sake. It's more of a friends with benefits arrangement, but we're not really friends."

"If I'd _only_ known you were looking for something like that –"

 _"_ _Chris!"_ Molly laughed despite herself. "Anyway, we were really just getting started, then he basically disappeared almost seven weeks ago. I didn't know what to do at first, then I got angry, and then I decided to prove to myself that someone else would want me – someone I could respect and like – and that I could enjoy having sex with someone else again."

"And you chose me," he said tonelessly.

"Oh Chris – I'm _sorry_ … again."

"No," he said, smirking, "I'm actually rather chuffed that you thought of me as someone you might enjoy sex with."

"I've thought it before, Chris," she said lightly, "but every time I might have pursued something, you were busy elsewhere."

 _"_ _Ah,"_ he said. They were quiet for a while, then he asked, "Is it over with the other man?"

"I don't know." She again rubbed her palms over her face and then carded her fingers through her hair. "I don't want it to be." She sighed. "Let's talk about something else. Would you like some more wine? Some tea? Some ice cream?"

He pursed his lips. "What kind of ice cream do you have?"

"Double chocolate, raspberry ripple, rocky road, and vanilla."

 _"_ _Mmm_ … nice selection," he said, shifting to the side of the bed before rising to his feet and offering Molly his hand. "Give me a scoop of each of them, and I'll forgive you for trying to use my body so clinically."

"That's a deal," she said, red-faced but laughing, "and it wasn't _intended_ to be clinical."

After Chris left just after eleven o'clock, Molly stripped the bed and put fresh sheets on it, then went to the shower and washed her hair and vigorously scrubbed her body. The wine with their meal had given her a little bit of a buzz, but she had no excuse for what she'd done. She'd set out to seduce Chris and be seduced by him, not to end up being a cock-teaser. She did _like_ Chris, but she'd tried to use him as a substitute for Mycroft when there likely _was_ no substitute for Mycroft.

Crying in the shower didn't really count, Molly thought, so gave in to her misery.

#####

Mycroft doubted Molly considered her date a form of revenge for his inattention since she had no reason to think he would know or care about it, but he was finding it unexpectedly difficult to decide on and stick with a course of action concerning Molly. He'd admitted to himself that he'd done a runner after their Sunday together, but everything had turned just a little too comfortable, a little too cozy, and done so a lot too quickly. The impromptu nature of most of his dealings with Molly left him unsettled.

Mycroft had sent Molly a text Wednesday afternoon after leaving Barts and she'd replied with a single word: _Busy._ He'd decided to try dropping by her flat Friday evening, but instead his car had arrived just in time for him to see the back of Molly's familiar coat halfway between the door to her building and the next street. He noted the way her hand was tucked through the crook of the arm of the man walking alongside her and felt a momentary twinge. But then he realized such a new relationship would solve his Molly problem – that he'd have no cause to worry about her if she were happy with someone else.

That the thought didn't make Mycroft happy was no surprise. He didn't put much stock in the idea of personal happiness and never had.

Mycroft returned to his office and set the matter aside while he got back to work. That he took time to locate Molly and her new beau on CCTV and to track them until they entered a restaurant within a mile of Molly's flat was simply a holdover from feeling some sense of responsibility for her security. Besides, they'd made it easy for him by walking.

Just over two hours later, Mycroft saw them leave the restaurant and get into a taxi, and that was it. When the friend left Molly's flat approximately ninety minutes after arriving, that was _definitely_ the end of Mycroft's involvement in the matter.

#####

Mycroft watched as Molly's friend headed down the tube entrance, then sighed and sat back in his chair, elbows on its arms, fingers steepled under his chin. Whatever had happened in Molly's flat, he felt at least partially responsible. The scene at the lab Wednesday would only have confirmed whatever sense of rejection she'd felt at his drawing back, and a young woman like Molly feeling rejected by one man might very well seek out the attention of another one to prove something to herself. And in this case unwittingly to _him._

#####

After tossing and turning for some time, Molly flipped her pillow, rolled onto her side and pulled the covers over her ear, determined to forget about her aborted evening and get some sleep. She'd fallen into a light doze when something woke her and she froze, staring into the dim glow from the streetlight filtering through a slit between her drapes. She felt the other side of the bed dip and the mattress jiggled for several moments before all was still … although if she strained, she could hear his quiet breathing.

"Was it the CCTV camera on Watling Street? I thought I saw it follow as we walked past," she said matter-of-factly, then rolled onto her back and turned her head until she could see his profile in the dim light. "I didn't have sex with him … well, I – you know what? It's absolutely _none_ of your business what I might do with other men."

They were silent again for several moments, then Mycroft sighed. "No, it's _not,_ and I really don't care about what you may have done with him." He turned to look her way and a faint glimmer of light caught the sheen of his eyes as he continued in that neutral voice. "But it was my fault that you were with him."

Molly didn't respond to that since he'd see through the lie if she tried to deny the reasoning behind her uncharacteristic action ... or maybe Mycroft didn't think having sex on a first date _would_ be uncharacteristic for her considering how they'd initially come together. "Why are you here?" When he didn't answer, she responded to his earlier comment. "I needed to prove something and I did," she said, then rolled onto her side away from him before continuing in a stony voice. "I wanted to prove that you aren't as fucking brilliant at sex as I _think_ you are because how can you be _that_ brilliant if you can turn it off like a tap." She turned her face toward the ceiling. "It wasn't just _sex_ that I wanted – it was sex with _you,"_ she said huskily. "It's _your_ body that I crave, _your_ touch - but it's just _sex,"_ she added quickly, then continued more slowly, "but I don't understand how someone so apparently detached from people, so dismissive of emotions, can be so unbe _liev_ able as a lover." When Mycroft's hand came to rest on her shoulder, Molly shrugged it off. "You may have temporarily spoiled me for sex with other men, but eventually I _will_ forget what it feels like to be with you." She stopped to catch her breath, then rolled all the way onto her back and looked his way. "It's so _easy_ for you to turn it off. How can you forget our times together so easily? How do you shut out feelings and emotions like they never existed? I don't understand how you do that, but I wish I c-could," Molly turned her head away, embarrassed that her voice had cracked. "I just mean the _sex,_ Mycroft."

"Molly –"

"Why are you here?" she again asked abruptly. "What do you want? If you're suddenly in the mood for it, well … _I'm_ not."

Mycroft didn't answer her directly. "Do you want your key back?"

She didn't answer for several moments, then, "Do you want me to take it back?"

Just when she'd decided he wasn't going to answer, he sighed. "No."

"Are you staying then?"

"Do you want me to stay?"

Molly looked toward him again with a frustrated sigh. "Why are you - _we_ \- answering questions with questions? Do you want to _sleep_ here, Mycroft?"

She could feel him staring at her in the semi-dark. "Yes."

Molly sat up and reached for the lamp switch, then turned to look at him. All the aggravation of the night suddenly vanished and she had to bite the insides of her cheeks to hold back a nervous giggle at seeing him squint, blinking at the light, and looking more cuddly and unkempt than she'd ever seen him in _wrinkled_ clothing … and what _unusual_ clothes they were for him – or at least she'd never seen him in something like his blue rolled-neck jumper over a white shirt and soft gray corduroy trousers. "What in the world do you have on?"

He looked confused before he glanced down at himself. "Cords and a jumper," he said. "Is there something wrong with them?"

Molly wanted to hug him, but refrained. "No, but I've never seen you looking so informal ... so informally _dressed_ , I mean," she said. "Did you bring a suit?"

Again, she wanted to hug him when he hesitated, looking at her uncertainly. "I did, but I wasn't assuming –"

"We'll call it strategic planning," she said briskly. "If you're going to stay, it's too cool for you to sleep on top of the covers. You can get into bed …on _your_ side of the bed."

Mycroft quickly stripped down to his pants and slipped under the covers on his side of the bed. Then they were silent until Molly turned the lamp off and rolled away. Mycroft looked at her in the dim light and suppressed a sigh. "It wasn't."

"Wasn't what?"

"Easy," he said.

Molly stared into the darkness for a long time, then whispered, "Go to sleep if you can, Mycroft."

They did drift off to sleep eventually, but Molly woke before dawn and realized Mycroft was spooned along her back. She then became aware of his morning erection and knew he was awake when he shifted far enough away to stop pressing against her. Molly took a couple of slow breaths, then turned toward him, and they looked at each other in the pre-dawn light filtering through her drapes. Mycroft reached out to push some hair off her face ... and then they were in each other's arms and proceeded to have very slow, drowsy sex, lying on their sides, facing each other.

Once she'd tossed her nightgown and knickers over the side of the bed and Mycroft had slid his pants off, Molly handed him a condom, then waited a few moments before lifting her upper leg over his hip and hooking it behind his waist. Her breath caught when he slipped his leg between hers, smoothed his hand down her back to cup and tilt her bottom, and pressed into her when she reached between them and guided him home. Molly's body had been so soft and relaxed from sleep, but her muscles tightened when Mycroft began making circular grinding motions, rubbing his pelvis against hers. She found his shallow thrusts both frustrating and exciting as it made her work her internal muscles harder, seeking the maximum friction. She shifted her knee higher on his side, then tilted her head back and flushed when he lifted his eyes to hers, suddenly realizing that while she'd been watching what they were doing, so had he. In a defensive move if nothing else, she reached around his neck and pulled him down to her, closing her eyes as she kissed him open-mouthed and they continued to rock together. Molly moaned with Mycroft's hand smoothed over her bottom again and dipped lower, teasing her with the tips of his fingers. In response, she slid her hand down his back, lightly raking her fingernails along his spine. She was enjoying the lazy intimacy of their slow snogging and gentle rocking, but eventually her muscles tensed from staying at such a low-level of arousal for such a long time. She wrapped her hand around his neck again, then tugged him over her as she pulled her head back. "Mycroft … could we change posi–" She broke off as he slid further into her and his pubic bone ground against her when he shifted partially over her. "Oh god _yes_ – just like that." She lifted against him, wiggling until she could free her other leg to wrap around his thigh, then arched her back and pressed down with her bottom, groaning in pleasure as she stretched her spine. She smiled up at him and hesitated, flushing again when she saw he was studying her quite openly. "Don't look at me," she protested, turning her face away, but she smiled when he lowered his head against her throat and his heavy breaths warmed her skin. _"Mmmm,"_ she moaned breathlessly, sliding her fingers through his hair, "that feels good."

Mycroft brought his hands around between them and cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing back and forth over her nipples, then trailed the fingers of one hand slowly down her stomach to curve between her legs. Molly moaned again, arching as his fingers probed gently, then she abruptly gasped when his thumb pressed firmly then dragged against her. "Oh _god,_ do that again," she groaned, then jerked her hips upward to grind harder against his fingers.

Mycroft rolled more fully onto her, then braced his palms against the bed, and thrust forcefully into her, and again, taking on a hard, fast pace. Molly shifted until her feet were flat against his bottom and lifted harder against him on each down stroke. When he suddenly threw in a circular grind, she came with a guttural groan, arching her head hard against the pillow, and then another orgasm rippled through her when Mycroft lightly bit the side of her throat, which was arched so tautly below him. He thrust harder and faster, skin slapping against hers, then rolled onto his side, taking her with him, as he shuddered and came with a bitten-off shout. They lay facing each other, chests heaving, all mashed together to the point that a brain-scrambled Molly wasn't sure which limbs were whose. Mycroft shifted onto his back and pulled Molly over him, and she hooked her knee over the side of his hip and collapsed against him in a sprawl. She felt almost boneless, like she never wanted to move again.

When their breathing and heart rates returned to normal, they shifted onto their sides, with Mycroft again spooning her. They were quiet for a while, then Molly sighed. "Where do we go from here?"

And there was nothing but silence as they both pondered that question.

#####

Mycroft was up to take a shower and get dressed by half past seven, leaving Molly dozing in bed. When he came back into the bedroom, already wearing the trousers and shirt to his suit, she scooted across the bed and leaned over to pick up the white shirt Mycroft had dropped on the floor during the night. He was sitting in the chair in the corner, putting on his shoes and socks, and looked up solemnly when she came to stand in front of him. Molly hadn't opened the drapes or turned on a lamp so the room was still dark with shadows, partially obscuring Mycroft's face but his eyes shone in the dim light. Molly rubbed one foot over the other, self-consciously, when he ran his eyes slowly down her body. She tugged on the shirttail, twisted the hem between her fingers and shifted a bit skittishly when his gaze lingered on her bare feet. "May I, um, keep the shirt?"

Mycroft's eyes made the return journey up Molly's body to her face, which was bright red by the time their eyes met, then he sat back in the chair and draped his wrists over the chair's arms. "Oh, I absolutely _insist_ on it," he drawled.

Molly grinned, still blushing, then skipped the few feet separating them and dropped onto his lap sideways, arms encircling his neck and legs dangling over the chair arm. He'd moved his right arm just in time and used it to hitch her legs closer. "So when are you coming back?"

"Molly –"

"Okay, okay … I'm greedy," she said, tucking her face against his throat. "Just come back when you can," she said solemnly. "Once a week would be good. Twice would be even better. Now if you want to go for _best_ case …"

Mycroft snorted. "I'll see what I can do." He gave her a light pat on the bottom and shifted to check the time on his pocket watch. He helped her off his lap, then rose to his feet and tucked the watch away. "I have to go, but I'll call you later."

Molly noticed his cords on the bed and turned to look at him over her shoulder. "Do you want me to get those clothes cleaned? Do you want to take the shoes?"

Mycroft glanced at the clothes he'd put on the night before to come over. "I'll take care of them later. Just toss it all in a carrier bag."

Molly followed him out of the room, then stooped to pick up Toby when he appeared by her feet and gave him a cuddle. "Would you like some tea? It won't take long to prepare it."

"Thank you, Molly, but I'm on the way to a breakfast meeting at Downing Street," Mycroft said, then paused, lifting his brows at his own indiscretion. "Don't repeat that to anyone."

"I won't, and neither will Toby," Molly said, putting said cat down as she followed Mycroft to the entry. Mycroft's lips twitched as he turned away and shrugged into his coat. Molly then handed him the scarf, waited until he'd looped it around his neck, then moved in for a hug before he saw her coming closer. "Thank you, Mycroft," she said. "I know this isn't forever, or probably even long-term, but, please, let's give each other some warning when it's the end, all right?"

Mycroft lifted his hand and ran his palm over the crown of Molly's head and then gently tugged on the ends of her hair until she tilted her head back. "All right," he said, then bent to give her a brief kiss as his hand continued down her back. He straightened abruptly. "Where are your knickers, Miss Hooper?"

"Probably on the floor where I threw them last night, Mr. Holmes." Damned if Mycroft didn't _harrumph_ , like some old-fashioned gentleman in a period film, and Molly couldn't suppress a giggle. "You better go. The Prime Minister awaits."

Mycroft gave her a stern glance, then grabbed his umbrella and opened the door, but Molly peeked her head into the corridor and saw him swing the umbrella in a rather jaunty circle before he turned to go down the stairs.

Molly leaned against the closed door and thought about the two visitors who'd left her flat since the previous evening. She still felt chastened by what had happened with Chris, but was elated by Mycroft's turnaround. Molly pulled the latter's shirt more closely around her and headed for the kitchen, looking forward to the easy comfort of the morning's first cup of tea.


	5. Inner Sanctum

Molly Hooper was hustled along the hospital corridor among the group of men, all of whom loomed over her … other than John Watson perhaps, but he walked with a certain military bearing that seemed to add inches to his rather modest height. Greg Lestrade was first to burst through Barts' outer door and onto the pavement and quickly headed off into the night with a wave of his hand. Those left behind paused, looking after him for a few moments, then turned back just as a sleek black car pulled up beside them.

"Sherlock? John? Miss Hooper? May I offer you a lift?" Mycroft Holmes asked with a raised brow. Molly was careful to suppress any reaction while watching his brother who, as she'd been expecting, immediately scowled.

"We've suffered your presence long enough, brother mine," Sherlock said irritably, then headed toward the curb and raised a hand to hail a passing taxi. "Come on, John!" His gaze shifted toward her as the black cab drew to a stop with a squeal of brakes. "Sorry, Molly," he said dismissively, "but we're not going your way." John gave Molly an apologetic glance before following Sherlock into the back of the cab, and then they were gone.

Molly released a long breath and raised her eyes to Mycroft's as the relative silence settled around them. He took a step back and lifted the umbrella in a sweeping gesture toward the car. "Shall we?"

The traffic was still heavy at half past eight on that Wednesday evening. Molly turned to look out the window at the headlights of oncoming cars and suddenly thought of the supper preparations she'd abandoned when Sherlock summoned her back to the morgue. She huffed a laugh and saw Mycroft glance at her out of the corner of her eye. When she looked at him, the passing streetlights cast flickering shadows across his face. "I just realized I left a packet of salmon on the worktop when Sherlock called." Her lips quirked. "Toby's probably enjoyed an unexpected feast in my absence."

A crease appeared between his brows. "You haven't eaten then?"

"No, but it's all right," she said quickly. "I'll have something else when I get home."

Mycroft turned to look out the window without saying anything, then slid a hand into his jacket pocket at the low buzz of his mobile. "Yes?"

Molly stared out her own window and tried to ignore his low-voiced conversation – what little there was of it. His side was terse, almost to the point of being monosyllabic. After a few moments, Molly's eyes were irresistibly drawn back to Mycroft and she had to swallow several times against a sudden increase in saliva. _He's quite literally mouth-watering,_ she thought - that aura of understated power surrounding him as he sat there so calmly, phone at his ear, a fingertip tapping his knee, his long legs elegantly crossed. Molly found it almost unimaginable that this coolly detached and seemingly passionless man had lost himself in her body and come apart in her arms. She unconsciously shifted on the seat as she considered her intimate knowledge of every inch of his skin beneath the conservative suit. She glanced away as she felt warmth rise in her cheeks and then flushed harder when her eyes briefly and unintentionally met the driver's in the rearview mirror. _Mark,_ she reminded herself, since they'd finally been "properly introduced."

Molly turned back to Mycroft when he pocketed his phone and sighed. "I'm sorry, Molly, but I need to stop by the office. Would you mind waiting in the car? I'll only be a few minutes, then we could get something to eat afterward."

"What?" His eyebrows flicked up at her surprise, but Molly was so sure he'd been going to say he needed to drop her at home first. She mentally played back the entirety of what he'd said and had to look out the window to hide her reaction. Did he mean they were going to eat together _in_ _public?_ "That would be fine," she said, turning back to him with a smile.

Mycroft lifted his chin in acknowledgment, then leaned forward to give Mark new instructions before settling back on the seat, and they shared a companionable silence until the car drew to a stop. Rather than getting out immediately, Mycroft turned to Molly and seemed to be studying her. "What is it, Mycroft?"

"Would you like to come in with me?"

Molly pressed her lips together before her mouth could fall open in shock and then quickly glanced toward Mark and back at Mycroft. "I would," she finally said, "thank you."

Mycroft told the driver he'd send a text when they were ready to leave, then helped Molly out of the car and ushered her toward the building with a hand against her back.

#####

Mycroft showed Molly into his office, then waved a hand toward the chairs in front of his desk. "Have a seat, my dear. I'll be back shortly." When he returned about ten minutes later, he found Molly leaning over his desk, weight resting on her forearms as she studied the crystal globe. The unintentional allure of her position caught his attention, but then Molly glanced over her shoulder at him and straightened with a guileless smile. Mycroft felt a twinge of discomfort at the lewd image that had briefly come to mind and quickly rounded his desk before dropping into his chair and opening his laptop. He waved Molly to a chair without looking at her.

Molly took a seat and then stared at his hands in silence, feeling mesmerized by the quick movement of those long, dexterous fingers over the keyboard. After several minutes, she got up and wandered behind Mycroft to study the painting of the Queen more carefully. She eventually drew a breath to ask a question, but then glanced at the back of his head, hesitant to disturb him.

Mycroft had seemed fully focused on the screen, but suddenly swiveled his chair to look at her. "Did you want to ask me something?"

"Why the painting of a young Elizabeth instead of a more recent one?"

Mycroft got up and went to stand closely behind Molly, resting his hands on her shoulders as he studied the painting over the top of her head. "It doesn't hurt for certain people who come here to be reminded that making a vow to devote oneself to service to the country can indeed last a lifetime."

They continued to study the painting in silence for a while, then Molly twisted to look up at Mycroft, and he bent to kiss her while carefully turning and maneuvering them until her backside was resting against the desk. He gave her a lift onto its edge as he pushed his chair out of the way, and Molly clutched his shoulders more tightly, pressing her breasts against him and parting her lips when the tip of his tongue ran along their seam.

Molly suddenly felt obsessed with Mycroft's lips, his mouth, his tongue – as if all the arousal she'd ever felt or would be allowed to feel was focused on that relatively small area of his body, and she was snogging him as if her life, their lives, depended on it … and Mycroft was returning her kisses with just as much passion until they abruptly pulled away, breathing heavily, needing air. Before Molly had stopped gasping, Mycroft's lips were moving lightly across her cheek, sending a shiver through her when his breath stirred the hair at her temple. He began kissing a path down her throat, and Molly tilted her head to give him better access. _"Mmmmm,"_ she moaned as he deliberately sucked a love bite on her neck before raising his head.

Mycroft waited until Molly's eyes opened and met his. Their breathing quickened as they stared at each other, then their mouths came together again in sudden urgency. Mycroft slid one hand through her hair to her nape and curved the other around her waist, pulling her closer. Their lips briefly separated and they each drew a deep breath before coming back together and delving deep, tongues sliding and coiling against each other, tips flicking teasingly, until he brushed the roof of her mouth and sent a jolt racing through her that ended with a tingle right between her legs. Molly pulled back with a gasp, then surged forward again to press her open mouth to his throat, feeling his pulse throbbing against her lips. She raised her head a fraction, then licked the skin where his pulse beat most strongly.

Mycroft straightened abruptly and his eyes again met hers. When Molly licked her lips, Mycroft pressed the flat of one hand in the center of her back and used his other hand to spread her knees further apart. As he stepped between them, he slid his hand from her knee to her thigh, continued up her torso, pausing for a moment to rub his thumb over her nipple, then slid higher to tilt her chin up. He began to kiss her while slowly urging her to lie on the desk and slipped his hand from under her back, down over her bottom and to the back of her thigh. When Molly opened her mouth, Mycroft immediately deepened the kiss, and they both moaned when she wrapped her legs around his hips and pressed her pelvis against his. Mycroft shifted to align the hard edge of his erection with the center seam of her jeans, then ground against her until they both moaned in frustration. Mycroft shifted his weight to one side and brought his hand between their bodies to undo the snap at her waist and slowly lower the zipper before wedging his hand between her clothes and skin and working his fingers lower until their tips touched moisture …

Molly pulled away with a gasp and raised her hand to press her fingers over his mouth. "Wait a minute," she said panting, then rolled her head to draw some air into her lungs. After a few moments, her eyes turned back to his and she shifted her hand to brush her thumb over his cheekbone, trying to calm him … calm _them._ "I don't want you to do something in the heat of the moment that you'll regret later," she said a bit raggedly, then swallowed audibly as she tried to catch her breath. "Are you sure you want to have sex on your desk? Where you do such serious and important work?" She paused thoughtfully, then her lips quirked. "And in front of the Queen?"

The corners of Mycroft's lips briefly turned up as he continued to hover over her, his breathing quick and shallow. A few seconds went by before he flattened both palms against the desk and pushed himself to a stand. Mycroft gave her another brief smile as he dropped into his chair, draped his hands over the chair arms and studied her while his chest rose and fell with his slow, deep breaths. "We've obviously reached a crucial stage in this arrangement of ours if you're becoming less impetuous than I."

Molly cocked her head to return the smile, then sat up, slid off the desk and stood looking down at him. "If you ever do decide you want to finish this," she sighed, "just ask me to come for tea at the office and I'll happily accept the invitation."

Mycroft's expression changed as he stared up at her broodingly before lowering his gaze to the surface of his desk. She watched as he seemed to be considering the notion seriously, then his gaze wandered around the room before coming to rest on her face and dropping down her body. She felt the warmth stir in her core and unconsciously rubbed her thighs together, then felt her face flush when Mycroft's eyes rose to meet her own. She stepped aside as he got up, but then pressed close and wrapped her arms around his waist when he pulled her to him. She felt the quick throb of his heart against her cheek and decided she wouldn't stop him if he started something again.

Mycroft finally sighed and kissed the top of her head. "Let's go find something to eat."

#####

Molly glanced at Mycroft, eyes wide with surprise, when the car pulled into an unmarked alley and came to a halt behind a floodlit service entrance to an unmarked building. Mycroft leaned across her to push the door open, then followed her out of the car before stopping to speak to Mark.

When they went through the plain metal door, Molly was pleasantly surprised by the delicious mix of aromas. They were in a well-lit corridor that took a jog to the right, skirting the back of an industrial-sized kitchen filled with noisy people scurrying around cooking, serving plates, picking up orders. She stopped when a large man stepped into the corridor in front of them, blocking their way, and Mycroft eased up behind her and put a hand on her back.

"Mycroft –" the man said, booming a jovial welcome in a rich, deep voice.

"Antonio," Mycroft greeted him, leaning past Molly to offer his hand. "Thank you for making room for us at such short notice."

"You and your friends are always welcome," Antonio responded gallantly, his dark eyes eyeing Molly with overt speculation, and then held out his hand. "Good evening, Miss …?"

Molly glanced quickly at Mycroft before offering her hand. "Hooper," she said, then gasped when the man pressed plump lips to the back of it with a flourish.

"That's enough of that, Antonio," Mycroft said lightly. "You'll turn Miss Hooper's head."

Antonio let go of Molly's hand but with enough of a leer to cause her to blush becomingly. "Ah," he said, "such a lovely English rose." His gaze shifted to Mycroft's and he straightened abruptly. "I have a place set up for you just along here," he said, turning to lead them further along the corridor. He stopped before an unmarked door, then swung it open with another flourish. "I hope this is suitable, Mycroft?"

Mycroft's steely-blue gaze briefly swept the room before he turned back to the restaurant owner with a lift of his chin. "Thank you, Antonio." He lowered his gaze to Molly's and lifted a brow. "Is there anything you don't like food-wise, Molly?"

Her eyes slid to Antonio's. "This is an Italian restaurant?"

Antonio's chest puffed out a bit. _"The_ Italian restaurant, Miss Hooper, if you believe Guardian reviews." He saw Mycroft shift impatiently out of the corner of his eye and quickly continued. "Italian cuisine is indeed our specialty, but my chefs are also highly accomplished with other –"

"I'd be happy with Italian," she broke in, feeling Mycroft's tension increase at the delay.

"Just bring us a selection of your favorite Italian dishes, Antonio, and a good bottle of whatever you recommend to accompany them."

"Of course, of course, Mycroft," he gushed, then gave Molly a bow before hurrying down the corridor toward the kitchen.

Mycroft urged Molly into the room, then stood back as she looked around at what was obviously an office before focusing on the round table and two dining chairs set in the far corner. The large room was lit by two lamps, one on the desk and one on the table, so the business purpose was softened by shadows. As they stopped beside the table and studied the crisp white linen, elegant table setting, and pale pink peonies in a cut-glass bowl, Molly wondered if the private dining setup was solely for Mycroft's use and, if so, whether it was a normal stand-by arrangement or a one-off accomplished within the past half hour. Molly touched the edge of a flower petal with a tentative finger, then looked up at Mycroft. "This is lovely … and unexpected."

He smiled briefly then tilted his head toward the door. "Do you need to visit …?"

"Actually, I would like to wash my hands," she said, suppressing a blush … then mentally rolled her eyes at the thought of being embarrassed to admit the need for a toilet, all things considered. "Is there a ladies' room nearby?"

"A unisex facility for the staff is just down the corridor. Will that do?"

Molly did roll her eyes at that. "Just point me to it, Mycroft."

By the time they returned to the office, Antonio was there with a server, arranging still-steaming dishes and filling their wine glasses. Molly's eyes widened as Mycroft pulled out her chair and helped her settle at the table. She finally lifted her eyes to Antonio's with no thought of trying to act sophisticated. "Wow, Antonio … this looks _amazing!"_

Although Antonio suffered no lack of arrogance, vanity and self-importance, his chest swelled with pride at Molly's genuine enthusiasm and artlessness. "Ah, Miss Hooper ... I just hope my humble efforts prove worthy of such a lovely lady."

Mycroft suppressed a snort and waved a dismissive hand. "Thank you, Antonio. I'm sure your 'humble efforts' will prove to be delicious … for both of us." Antonio's color deepened when his eyes met Mycroft's and he quickly excused himself, promising to return later with a selection of desserts.

Molly eyed Mycroft over the rim of her wineglass before taking a sip. "Private dining, meal served by the owner himself, at a restaurant where it normally takes weeks to get a reservation … this is certainly not what I expected for an impromptu meal."

Half an hour later, Molly was surprised to realize they'd found mutual interests to chat about – surprised that Mycroft had bothered to "chat" at all - but after looking from her plate to his, she wondered if he'd used conversation as a means to distract her. "You're not eating, Mycroft," she said thoughtfully as she swallowed another bite of smoked-cheese ravioli. He seemed to have moved the food around on his plate without eating much of it.

Mycroft took another sip of wine, then lifted a brow. "I've had sufficient, my dear."

"You've hardly eaten anything." Molly watched Mycroft as she ate some risotto. "Are you on a diet, Mycroft?" She drew a deep breath when his lids dropped over his eyes. "Why the _hell_ are you on a diet? You don't need to lose weight!"

"Nor do I need to gain it," he said lightly.

Molly was outraged. "I can't believe it. You brought me here and let them serve all this delicious food – every dish absolutely bursting with carbs and calories – and you won't let yourself indulge? Why would you _do_ that? I'd have been happy with a bloody _sandwich!"_ Molly's voice had risen and she huffed in annoyance when Mycroft didn't reply. Another thought occurred to her. "What about the desserts? Don't you like _pudding?"_

Mycroft sighed before he could suppress it. "Far too much," he said with a wry smile.

Molly deliberately placed her knife and fork on her plate, then sat back. "Are you going to eat some dessert tonight?"

"I'll have a cup of coffee."

Molly sighed, then changed tactics. "Are you planning to have sex with me tonight?" She had to suppress her amusement when Mycroft stared at her, blinking slowly, before his gaze dropped ... but he quickly regained his composure and met her eyes again.

"That's entirely up to you, my dear," he said lightly, but with a heated look that made her blush.

"Then you ought to enjoy splitting a dessert with me since we're going to be burning a lot of calories later," she said confidently, while trying to ignore her deepening blush. She was relieved when they were interrupted by a quick rap on the door before it opened and the server from earlier came in, pushing a serving cart with their desserts and coffee service. She quickly got up and went around the table to stand by Mycroft to consider the selections. "What do you think? The Tiramisu?" When he unconsciously licked his lips, Molly turned to the server. "We'll take coffee and keep one tiramisu, but please take the rest away," she instructed, then added with a smile, "thank you." Once the server had cleared the table, he reset it with the coffee service, tiramisu and two dessert plates, forks and spoons.

When the door clicked shut, Molly filled their coffee cups, then moved her chair next to Mycroft's before shifting to face him. "One plate or two?" She wasn't intentionally being seductive, she thought, but the question may have been asked in a huskier voice than it warranted.

"One's fine," he said, holding her eyes.

Molly glanced away to pick up the dessert spoons, then raised her eyes to his again. "One or two?"

"Molly –"

"One then," she said, then turned to spoon up a bite-size portion so she missed the way Mycroft's knuckles whitened where he gripped the handle of his coffee cup. His hand relaxed when she turned back to him with a hopeful expression and lifted the spoon. "Mycroft?" He studied her expression for a moment, then bent forward and closed his lips around the utensil, holding her eyes as he slowly sucked the creamy mouthful off the spoon. Molly's breath caught, then her head swam and a pulse throbbed between her legs as a wave of lust spread through her body. She broke their eye contact, carefully refilled the spoon, turned back to him with a slow smile, then lifted the spoon toward her mouth -

Mycroft's hand wrapped around Molly's wrist before the spoon touched her lips. "Unless you want me to fuck you right here, right now, I suggest we leave." Molly dropped the spoon with a clatter at his gruff warning, and there was a brief moment when they both stilled, staring at each other … then Mycroft leaned forward and kissed her, slipping one hand through her hair and around the nape of her neck as he bent her over his other arm. Molly fingers grabbed the sides of his jacket as his tongue filled her mouth with the creamy tang of the mascarpone, the dark flavor of his coffee, and the irresistible taste that was Mycroft himself. He straightened with Molly held against his chest just as quickly as he'd bent over her.

"Wait for me here," Mycroft said in a deep, gravelly voice as he released her and got to his feet. "I'll be back in a few minutes." He headed toward the door, then hesitated, changed course to pick up his overcoat and folded it over his arm as he left the room. When the door shut, Molly sagged in the chair, feeling hot, rumpled and extremely aroused.

#####

The drive to Molly's flat was silent, still … and it was as if an electric current flowed between the two of them. Molly didn't know if Mark felt the strain, but Antonio had noticed Mycroft's tenseness and given her a sympathetic glance, misunderstanding its cause.

#####

Mycroft followed Molly into the flat and had time only to hang his umbrella on a hook before Molly shoved him back against the door and slid her arms around his neck as far as she could reach on her tiptoes. "Mycroft," she moaned huskily as she pulled his mouth to hers.

Mycroft didn't hesitate to clutch the sides of Molly's waist and lift her against him before clamping his arms around her back. Her kiss was frantic, as if she expected them to be parted by some outside force at any moment, and he gently cupped the side of her face as he eased his lips away. "Slow down, Molly," he softly urged. "Let's get our coats off." When her eyes met his and her expression turned sheepish, he let her slide down his body and started to undo the buttons on her coat.

"I'll do it," she said and hung the coat on a hook, followed by her scarf. She watched as Mycroft did the same with his, then he turned back to her, and they were again in each other's arms. After a few minutes, Molly tore her lips away, panting. "Oh _god,_ Mycroft," she moaned as he began kissing the side of her neck, "if you don't fuck me within the next few minutes, I think I'm going to spontaneously combust - eeee!" She broke off with a squeal when Mycroft suddenly bent to slip one arm around her back and scoop her knees up with the other and began striding toward her bedroom.

Mycroft carried her through the door and kicked it shut behind him, causing Toby to leap backwards with a protesting meow. Mycroft lightly tossed Molly onto the bed and quickly and efficiently removed his clothes as he watched her roll around, pulling the jumper over her head, toeing her shoes off, and shoving her jeans and pants past her hips before kicking them off her legs. A one-handed flick of her bra clasp and she was bare but for her socks, which he relieved her of as he crawled onto the bed … and directly into the warm embrace of her arms and legs. Mycroft quickly confirmed her readiness with a delicate touch of fingers that made Molly gasp and clutch his shoulders more tightly, then without further delay he penetrated her with one upward thrust, to the hilt, and with a loud groan of relief that Molly echoed. She squirmed and writhed, trying to buck against him, tightening her internal muscles to encourage him to start moving. Instead, he slowly pulled out again, then gathered himself for another hard thrust to the hilt, paused to grind their centers together, then slowly pulled out. "Mycroft …," she moaned, "you're killing me." He nudged her chin with his until she tilted her head further back on the pillow, then took her upper lip between his and lightly sucked on it as he flexed his hips and buried himself in her again, deliberately rubbing his pelvic bone against her. "Mycroft …," she said as her fingers scrabbled at his back, then moaned when he reclaimed her mouth in a deep, exploring kiss.

Molly dragged her fingernails down his spine and gripped his bottom, nails digging into the straining muscles, and Mycroft's control broke. He straightened his arms, bracing his hands beside her shoulders, and his thrusts became even harder and deeper and unrelenting until Molly came with a gasping sob and her body clenched around his and Mycroft thrust faster and faster until he erupted deep within her and trembled again and then again from the aftershocks … before he finally dropped onto his forearms and lowered his head to the pillow beside hers ... and eventually kissed the crook of her neck once the harshness of his breathing eased.

Mycroft's muscles tensed as he slipped out of Molly and collapsed onto the bed beside her. When his breathing had slowed further, he rolled his head to look at her, then got up and went to the ensuite. He came back after a few minutes with a warm, wet flannel and proceeded to clean Molly carefully, despite her blushing protests. He returned to the bathroom and came back with another warm flannel and a hand towel, which he used to go over her again, then carefully dry her most tender parts. "I'm sorry, Molly," he said as he lay beside her on returning from the bathroom. "I haven't ever – I've been tested recently, if you're concerned."

Molly rolled onto her side and folded an arm under her head. "I'm not concerned about that," she said. "I'm clean, too – and I'm on the pill."

Mycroft sighed, then shifted to face her, mimicking her position, and reached out to tuck some hair behind her ear. "This evening has been a surprise. If Sherlock hadn't called –"

"We wouldn't have seen each other tonight," she finished. "I suppose I should thank him for interrupting my supper plans so rudely." She gave Mycroft a slow smile. "How can Sherlock still have no idea about this?"

"He hasn't been paying any attention."

Molly hesitated, not sure if she wanted to pursue the subject, but finally continued in what she hoped was an offhand and nonchalant manner. "And if he did?" She bit her lip when Mycroft suddenly rolled away to sit on the edge of the bed, then flushed when she saw the impressions her fingernails had left on his back.

Mycroft's face was unreadable when he finally looked at her over his shoulder. "He might decide he wants his neglected toy after all."

Molly frowned, considering his meaning. _"Me?_ You think Sherlock might start to want me if he knew _you_ wanted me?"

"It's not unprecedented," he said as he bent over to pick up his pants and trousers.

"And you think I …," Molly stopped, not wanting to believe he thought she could switch her affections – for want of a better word – so easily.

"You've wanted Sherlock for a long time," he said in an indifferent tone, then rose to his feet and briefly turned to her before stooping to gather the rest of his clothes. He paused, surprised when Molly abruptly sat up and stalked around the bed toward him. When she reached for his clothes, he gave them to her without thinking.

"First off," she said as she shook his trousers out and carefully placed them on the valet stand he'd given her, "I don't think he'd want me under any circumstances." She shook out his shirt, then paused before pursing her lips. "Not that I don't appreciate the concept of being the hay in a dog in the manger scenario," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Second," she continued as she arranged his shirt on the hanger and tried to smooth a wrinkle from the front of it, "I wouldn't want him now if he did." She turned to face Mycroft squarely and placed her fists on her hips, arms akimbo. "You said 'wanted' and that's correct. I _did_ want Sherlock, but my foolish infatuation with him stopped the moment you took my hand in the kitchen that day." She dropped her arms and moved closer. "Do you have to go? Can you stay the night?"

Mycroft's eyes continued to hold hers until he finally sighed and pulled her to him. "No, I can't stay the night," he said, resting his chin on the top of her head, "but I don't have to leave right now."


	6. Fool's Paradise

_Author's note: If you've not seen Hitchcock's Psycho, there are spoilers in this!_

#####

 ** _Summary: Mycroft and Molly allow a bit of whimsy to enter their arrangement, unaware of the storm that was about to overtake them_**

#####

Mycroft Holmes sat back with a sigh, draped his wrists over the arms of the chair, and lifted his brows at his personal assistant, who was sitting on the other side of his desk. "Anything else?"

"There's this text from Doug," Anthea said, leaning forward to hand him her mobile. After they'd briefly discussed the situation in the Ukraine, she uncrossed her legs and rose to her feet. "About Saturday, sir …" Mycroft looked up from the file he was studying, his usual neutral expression in place. "Jeff's wanting me to call the Gielgud to book tickets for Saturday night."

"A lot can happen in two minutes, much less two days," he said drily, then continued more seriously, "but I believe you can expect to be out of here no later than noon on Saturday without any need to return until Monday morning."

"Thank you, sir," she said, then left the office and quietly closed the door behind her.

Mycroft's attention returned to the file, which he set aside after a few minutes and sat forward to pull up a satellite feed on his laptop. When his mobile buzzed, he slid a hand into his jacket pocket without looking away from the computer, then glanced at the phone and hesitated for a moment before putting it to his ear. "Good afternoon, Molly," he said, leaning back in his chair again.

 _"_ _Good afternoon, Mycroft. Is this a bad time for you?"_

"I have a few minutes," he said. "What can I do for you?" Mycroft's brows drew together when she hesitated.

 _"_ _Would you like to come over Saturday evening – if you'll be free, I mean_ ," she finally managed.

It was Mycroft's turn to hesitate. There was something in Molly's voice … "Right now it seems I will be, but that's always subject to change," he said.

 _"_ _I was thinking …"_ Another hesitation meant something was indeed up. _"Have you ever had a 'movie night'? As an adult, I mean?"_

"I've never really gone in for films or television," he said cautiously. "What did you have in mind?"

 _"_ _I just thought we might watch a Hitchcock thriller, eat a big bowl of over-buttered popcorn, get a bit sloshed on wine. And maybe, um, enjoy a romp on the sofa before my parents get home and catch us,"_ she added playfully.

"What?"

 _"_ _Sorry – just joking about the last part,"_ she said. _"Neither of my parents is living."_ Mycroft didn't reply right away, a bit taken aback at the thought of such an abrupt shift in the nature of the time they spent together. _"Never mind, Mycroft – I'm just being silly and should have given this more consideration before calling you,"_ she said, then sighed. _"It's been a really crappy week at work and a movie night sounded like fun."_ She was quiet for a few moments, then snorted. _"I'm sure it sounds more like torture than fun to you."_

Five minutes later, Mycroft returned the phone to his pocket and went back to work … but not without first pausing to consider the potentially momentous nature of what had just occurred. He'd agreed to take part in something totally outside his experience, despite the fact that it would likely prove to be as misery-inducing as accompanying his parents to a West End musical.

And wouldn't Anthea be shocked if she knew they _both_ had plans for a Saturday night "date"?

#####

Mycroft gave Molly's door a triple tap with his umbrella, then let himself in with the key she'd given him – and immediately stopped, eyes closing as he drew a deep breath. _Chocolate._ "Mycroft?" He quickly set his suit bag on the floor and hung his umbrella on a hook and was removing his overcoat as Molly came around the corner, smiling. "Hey."

"Good evening, Molly," he said, returning her smile as he removed his scarf and straightened his jacket. "Do I smell cake?" Of _course_ he smelled cake. If there was one thing Mycroft knew, it was cake, god help him.

"Yes," she said, then quickly lifted onto her toes to give him a kiss, "and I expect you to eat a slice – or two. I hereby declare movie night to be anything-goes-night and nothing counts against you … not squealing girlishly at the scary bits – that's me, by the way, but feel free to join in - or eating too much popcorn and/or cake or getting a bit sloshed on cheap wine – or very _good_ wine as it happens, thank you very much," she said, after pausing to eye the bottle he was holding up, "… or overindulging in whatever _other_ manner we may choose," she finished with an arch of a brow. She turned away, and Mycroft picked up his suit bag and followed her into the sitting room. When she continued into the bedroom, he made a detour to the kitchen to set the wine on the table – pausing a few moments to appreciate the two chocolate sponge cakes where they'd been cooling on wire racks - then went after her.

Molly was sitting on the side of the bed when he came in and put his case on the chair. "What have you got there?"

"The corduroy trousers and jumper you left here a few weeks ago and never took back. They'll be more comfortable than your suit for lounging around on the sofa," she said, setting them on the bed beside her, then added, "I had them cleaned." She watched as Mycroft hung his suit in the wardrobe before he began to undress. "Shoes are optional – socks preferred … by the way," she continued distractedly. Mycroft's lips quirked as he looked up from unfastening his trousers and caught her staring at his hands. He deliberately hesitated before lowering his zipper, and Molly frowned before her eyes lifted to his ... and then she flushed and rose to her feet. "Right - I'll leave you to it," she said briskly, deciding she better remove herself from temptation since she needed to finish the cake.

Once back in the kitchen, Molly gently worked a long, serrated knife horizontally between each chocolate sponge round to create two more layers, then carefully stacked them, spreading a generous portion of chocolate truffle filling between each layer. Despite Mycroft's apparently constant diet, he might indulge his sweet tooth for once if given the right incentive.

Molly was whipping the cream when Mycroft entered the kitchen in his stockinged feet and came to stand beside her. He watched as she turned off the mixer, ran her finger around the edge of the bowl, and then offered her finger to him. Mycroft looked at her finger for a moment before taking it into his mouth. He circled his tongue around its length … once, twice … then slowly drew away, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked off every bit of the creamy sweetness he could and gave her finger a final swipe with his tongue.

Molly's pupils had dilated, her breaths quickening as she watched Mycroft, and her lips now parted when he leaned forward to kiss her. When he finally drew away, she took a deep breath and released it before licking her lips thoughtfully. "Could use a bit more sugar, I think," she concluded, teasingly, then tilted her head toward the sitting room. "Why don't you go look at the DVDs and see if you prefer one over the others. I was thinking you might like _Vertigo_ or _Rear Window_ , but I have a bunch of Hitchcock films. Or we could watch something else entirely."

Mycroft looked at the DVDs Molly had left on the coffee table, then moved to her shelves and ran his eyes over her rather large video collection. "It really doesn't matter to me, Molly."

"Maybe _Psycho_ then. That's a scary one so I'll have a good excuse for snuggling up to you," she said as she put the bowl of whipped cream in the refrigerator and took out a container of double cream.

Mycroft raised his brows as he looked at her over his shoulder. "Do you need an excuse?"

"Well … _snuggling_ ," she said. "I didn't think you'd normally do that sort of thing."

 _"_ _Hmm,"_ he hummed, pursing his lips. He returned to the kitchen as Molly started to heat the double cream. "Can I help?"

"You could break up the chocolate bars for me," she said, nodding her head toward a carrier bag.

By the time the ganache was ready to go on the cake, Mycroft had loosened up to the point that he'd deliberately created a distraction by nuzzling the side of her neck while reaching around her to wipe his finger along the edge of the bowl. When he stepped away to pop his chocolatey finger into his mouth, Molly snorted, then pulled open a drawer and handed him a spoon. "Here - you don't have to sneak a taste. Knock yourself out."

"Successfully sneaking a taste is much more satisfactory," he said, waving a dismissive hand at the offered utensil before giving his finger a final lick.

Molly poured the ganache over the cake and let it run down the sides, then smoothed the icing over the top and sides with a flexible spatula. She stepped back to admire the smooth shiny glaze, then set the cake aside for the icing to firm.

"What are you going to do with all the extra icing?"

Molly glanced from Mycroft to the bowl of ganache and back again. "We can put more on our cake slices, but I intended to top them with whipping cream and fresh raspberries," she said as she started transferring the other bowls, pots and utensils she'd used from worktop to sink. "Whatever you – _damn it!"_ Molly's elbow had hit the end of the spatula, flipping it up and out of the bowl and causing a stream of chocolate to be flung across her throat and upper chest. "Ugh," she groaned, plucking the neckline of her tank top away from her breasts as the thin icing slid lower.

"Let me help," Mycroft said, sounding amused as he took hold of the bottom hem, intending to blot the chocolate, but then he paused, realizing something he'd already noticed subconsciously … Molly wasn't wearing a bra. "It will be easier if you take this off," he suggested, brows raised. Molly lifted her arms without thinking and Mycroft pulled the chocolate-stained top over her head and tossed it aside. She turned her head to look at the discarded tank top, then down at her bare breasts, then back up at Mycroft and immediately blushed. Before she could instinctively cross her arms, Mycroft slid one hand around her waist and moved closer, urging her to lean against the worktop. "Let me help," he repeated, holding her eyes, and Molly's blush intensified and spread down her chest as she arched backward at his urging … and then she moaned and her knees wobbled when Mycroft tongued a stripe up the center of her chest before lifting his head and licking his lips. " _Mmm,_ delicious," he said, then proceeded to lick small splashes of chocolate off her neck and chest before kissing a trail to her right breast.

Molly's eyes closed and she squirmed against Mycroft as he went from flicking his tongue over the tip of her breast to gently nibbling the hardened nipple to sucking the whole areola into his mouth. She rolled her head to the side, gasping, eyes opening … and she stared at the bowl of ganache for several moments … flushing at her thoughts … even as she stretched to dip her cupped fingers into the icing … and then left a trail of drips over the worktop as she brought her hand back … and spread the chocolate across her chest and left breast and midriff, moaning as her fingers brushed over her nipple.

And Mycroft raised his head.

And studied what she'd done.

Then his eyes met hers … and Molly's knees buckled.

#####

"And the moral to that scene is 'Thou Shalt Not Steal'," Mycroft said drily as Marion Crane's fingers grasped the shower curtain before she collapsed, dead, over the side of the bathtub.

Molly suppressed a laugh, feeling obliged to give him a jab with her elbow. "No making light of a cinematic masterpiece," she said, then stuffed another handful of popcorn into her mouth from the bowl she was holding in the V of her legs. They were stretched out on the sofa – his back propped on a couple of pillows against the corner and Molly sitting between his legs and leaning against his chest. Mycroft's muscles shifted under her as he reached for his wineglass on the coffee table, then relaxed deeper into the corner before slipping his hand between Molly and the sofa back to grab some popcorn.

Mycroft was either interested in the film or doing a good job of acting like it, she thought as the familiar scenes played out. His muscles actually tensed when the shrieking music started during the brilliantly menacing scene with Milton Arbogast on the staircase, then he sighed when the private detective's body finally hit the floor at the base of the stairs. He muttered "idiot!" when Marion's sister went down the cellar steps to hide, then started at Molly's squeal when Lila turned the mummified Mrs. Bates around.

Molly cocked her head and twisted to look at Mycroft. "Gets me every time," she said, huffing a laugh, then hummed in appreciation when he dropped a kiss on her lips. She set the popcorn bowl on the table and slid her hand around his neck to bring his lips back to hers for a more lingering kiss. _"Mmmm …"_ She pulled away, then pushed against his chest to sit up when she noticed his gaze shift to the television screen. "Mycroft Holmes," she accused as she reached for the remote and paused the video, "you're actually _enjoying_ this film!"

A crease appeared between his brows as he frowned. "I wouldn't go that far," he protested, before continuing more thoughtfully, "but perhaps it's not a complete waste of time if we're going to be wasting time anyway." When Molly started to frown, he added, "And I'm aware that didn't come out the way I intended. Spending time with you is _not_ a waste of time."

Molly gave him a skeptical look, then rose to her feet. "I need the loo. Do you want me to bring you anything while I'm up?"

"I'm getting up too," Mycroft said. "I need to stretch." When Molly hit "stop" on the remote and headed for the bathroom, he noticed Toby staring at him from a nearby chair before turning away. At least the cat hadn't tried to join them on the sofa.

Mycroft carried their empty wine glasses and depleted bowl of popcorn to the kitchen. He was still considering whether to cut another slice of cake when Molly slid an arm around his waist before reaching past him and lifting the glass dome from the cake plate. "If you don't want a whole slice, I'll split one with you," she offered.

#####

They watched the rest of the film propped on pillows at opposite corners of the sofa, their legs interlaced, stockinged feet occasionally rubbing against the other's thighs … their half-filled wine glasses near at hand, set on the coffee table alongside their dessert plates, which were wiped clean other than a few cake crumbs their fingers had missed.

As the story continued to unfold toward its unsettling conclusion, Molly found herself staring unseeingly at the screen, instead replaying in her mind what had happened earlier when Mycroft had proceeded to lick off every bit of chocolate she'd smeared over herself. After her knees buckled, he'd carried her to the kitchen table, then wedged himself between her thighs and bent over her, weight resting on his forearms as his tongue moved ever so efficiently over her torso. When he finished, he'd straightened and again licked his lips and repeated, "Delicious."

Molly had slid her arms over the table top to straighten them overhead, groaning as she pressed her back against the hard surface and stretched her spine - and then abruptly froze at the arrested expression on Mycroft's face. For a moment, she'd actually forgotten how she must look to him, displayed half-naked under the bright overhead light … and the warmth of her blush had spread from her cheeks and down her chest, tightening her nipples almost to the point of pain. Mycroft had reached toward her, brushing his thumbs over her nipples – not touching her anywhere else, just rubbing their pads over her tight flesh – and Molly drew a sharp breath as a quiver ran through her body. He'd slid his hands beneath her underarms and lifted her off the table and into his arms, his hands then separating – one to curve around her nape and the other around her waist - as he claimed her mouth, his tongue delving deep.

They'd continued kissing for several minutes, then Mycroft bent forward over the table, leaving Molly again lying on its hard surface as he straightened and ran his eyes down her body. When he'd hooked a finger under the waistbands of her leggings and knickers on each side of her hips, her eyes widened. _"Mycroft?"_ He didn't say anything, but Mycroft's gaze continued to meet Molly's as he tugged on the material, and she found herself raising her bottom in answer to his unasked question. He'd slowly dragged Molly's remaining clothing down her legs and over her feet, then tossed it aside before gently grasping her ankles and shifting closer between her legs as he guided her feet around his back. When Mycroft bent over her, Molly's arms lifted to encircle his shoulders and their mouths met again, tongues rubbing and circling, then probing more deeply, taking their time.

Mycroft had finally drawn way, but continued to hold her gaze as he wrapped his hands around the outside of her thighs and tugged her closer to the edge of the table … and then he sat in the chair … and lifted her legs higher to drape her calves over his shoulders … and finally broke their eye contact as he turned his head to kiss the back of her left knee and nibbled his way up the inside of her thigh … his lips quirking at Molly's shocked gasps as he scooted forward in the chair and slid his hands under her bottom … and lifted her to him as he lowered his head between her thighs … and finally, deliberately, and with obvious relish delved between her moist folds with his tongue, probing deeply as he began to explore her most intimate flesh for the first time.

Molly's eyes had squeezed shut when pleasure flooded her body and her head swam from such exquisite torture … and she began to feel faint as her breathing deepened and her heart pounded … and then she thought of the bright light of the overhead fixture and wondered if she could die from embarrassment … but instead suddenly decided to stop worrying about how much the bright light allowed Mycroft to see, in favor of focusing all her attention on how Mycroft was making her _feel._ She'd stopped trying to suppress her reactions and slid her fingers through his hair to caress his scalp and hold him more closely to her. She flushed now at remembering that she'd even _guided_ him at one point – and blushed further as she recalled another point at which Mycroft had briefly lifted his head and laughed under his breath while gently covering her mouth with his fingers. "I don't know how thin your walls are, but we don't want your neighbors calling the police, do we?"

Molly's muscles had tightened even further as she strained to press closer to Mycroft and then she'd suddenly stuffed her knuckles into her mouth to stifle her screams as an orgasm ripped through her and caused her entire body to clench and quake … and to continue to quiver as the deep pulsing eventually began to ease off … and then she'd groaned from her gut when Mycroft again nudged his face against her and ran his tongue over her … and Molly thought she really must have fainted at that point because the next thing she clearly recalled was being held against Mycroft on the bed as his hands slowly traced over her and his lips teased the base of her throat and he lifted his head and met her eyes … and rose over her at her urging … and entered her with one hard thrust … and drew back and did it again … and then proceeded, as some say, to fuck her brains out before finally collapsing in a seemingly boneless, chest-heaving heap on the bed alongside her.

They'd eventually regained enough strength to make their way to the shower, where they took turns washing each other's back and focused their attention on cleaning up, until their eyes had met at that certain moment, in that certain way, and they were in each other's arms again.

By the time they'd dressed and returned to the kitchen, Molly had been able to glance at the kitchen table without thinking she'd die from embarrassment … and she'd quickly prepared the popcorn and eventually carried a large bowl of it to the sofa, while Mycroft followed behind her with their wine.

#####

"Molly?" When she didn't respond, Mycroft called her name again while running a fingertip over the arch of her foot - and then huffed a laugh when Molly flinched and gave him a wild-eyed stare. She turned her head to look at the screen before sliding her eyes back to meet his … and then she blushed, most profusely. Her blush appeared to deepen, if that was possible, when he held her gaze. "You missed the final line, which I have to admit was an effective ending –"

 _"_ _Why, she wouldn't even harm a fly …,"_ Molly quoted. "I've seen it, remember?"

"So you have," Mycroft murmured, studying her expression as her eyes again slid away. She tugged her feet from under his thighs and gave him a quick glance as she drew up her knees then swiveled to sit up. He watched as she rose to her feet and crossed the room to remove the DVD before carefully returning it to its sleeve.

When Molly finally turned back to look at him, Mycroft decided not to inquire about what had so embarrassed her. He could deduce it easily enough.

Within the hour, they were in bed and asleep, Mycroft spooned along Molly's back … both of them still relaxed, still sated, from their earlier activities.

#####

Sherlock sighed in satisfaction when the last tumbler turned and the lock gave way. He pocketed the pick and started to ease the door open, his carefulness not being from any concern about disturbing the flat's occupant but arising solely from the possibility that the cat might be lurking just inside, waiting for an opportunity to escape. All he had to do now was to waken Molly sufficiently to shift her to the box room – not that he was expecting any protest since they'd decided early on that he required use of the larger space of her bedroom whenever he chose her flat as his current bolt hole. This visit should be of short duration, he thought … just long enough for the rather overpowering odor of sulfur to clear his flat and for Mrs. Hudson to get over her fit of the sulks, although why she'd got so stroppy over a perfectly innocent accident –

Sherlock's thoughts came to a grinding halt as he processed what he was seeing. What were Mycroft's umbrella, overcoat and scarf doing hanging in Molly's entry at three o'clock in the morning … A wave of anger and resentment suddenly swept through him, the likes of which he hadn't experienced for years, but after several taut moments he successfully fought back the overwhelming urge to confront them immediately now that he'd uncovered their perfidy.

A few minutes later, Sherlock again removed his pick from the lock and silently strode down the corridor to the stairs and finally out into the night air.


	7. Disclosure

_Summary: Their Sunday had started so blissfully, but Mycroft and Molly didn't know Sherlock had discovered their secret ..._

#####

Early Sunday morning, still half-asleep, Molly Hooper started to turn over, only to be stopped short when her body came to rest against the warm solidity of a sleeping – no, _sleepy_ – Mycroft Holmes, who'd partially roused at the sudden contact … and then they were face-to-face, each of them blinking drowsily at the other. And without thinking, without inhibitions, without pausing to consider a potential rejection, Molly shifted and wiggled until she was lying flush on top of him. She sighed happily and tucked her head into the crook of his neck, her knees separating and sliding along the outside of his thighs to rest against the mattress, then she sleepily snuggled against him … as if Mycroft were a big, cuddly teddy bear … and proceeded to doze off. A few minutes later, her eyes flew open as his warm hands slowly slid down her back and cupped the undersides of her bottom, fingertips lightly brushing between her legs … and Molly, instantly aroused, gasped and lifted herself from Mycroft's chest, her eyes briefly meeting his before she sank back against him and pressed her lips to his in a soft, lazy, lingering kiss …, morning breath be damned. One of Mycroft's hands slipped through Molly's hair and curved around her nape as the kiss became more demanding, then deepened further when they rolled over and he slid smoothly and oh-so-easily into her … and the only sounds were the whisper of skin against skin, the rustling of sheets, soft moans, long contented sighs, and finally their first and only words – a breathless, murmured, somewhat amused exchange of "mornings" just before sleep again claimed them.

#####

"Problem?"

The crease between Mycroft's brows smoothed as he set the mobile aside. "Nothing to be concerned about," he said, giving Molly a brief smile before taking another sip of tea. His eyes held hers over the rim of the cup until the corners of her lips curved and her gaze dropped to her plate.

Molly took time spreading strawberry jam on a wedge of toast, then bit off a corner before looking up at Mycroft again. "How much longer can you stay?"

"Just until after breakfast," he said rather apologetically, but then the corners of his lips curved when he considered that it was already half past ten. They'd had a lie-in after their leisurely session of "morning nooky," as Molly had insisted on calling it, earning a disgusted snort from Mycroft. Half an hour later, after giving her a brief kiss at the door, Mycroft was gone, and Molly got on with her usual weekend chores, albeit with more of a smile on her face than might have been expected while hoovering popcorn from under the sofa.

#####

"Shall I come in, sir?"

"No need, my dear," Mycroft said. "I went by Number 11 to soothe a few nerves, but am on my way home now. Having one of its directors outed for failing to pay personal income taxes may be a bit embarrassing for Treasury but certainly isn't a threat to national security – however impressive the figure quoted for the unpaid taxes." He paused, then snorted. "Just their hard luck that it's been an otherwise slow news day. The story would never have warranted breaking-news status otherwise."

#####

Molly pushed her way into the lab Monday morning and stopped abruptly upon seeing Sherlock already installed at his favorite work station.

"How nice of you to show up," he said testily without looking at her.

Molly frowned at Sherlock's tone, but checked her watch to confirm that she was actually ahead of time. "Good morning, Sherlock," she said pleasantly. "Let me stow my things and I'll be back to help you."

"There's no need," he said curtly. "I've asked Danica for assistance."

Molly hesitated, confused by his behavior, but shrugged after several moments and continued to her office.

#####

A brief story claiming that a high-ranking officer in the Department of Energy and Climate Change had been secretly supporting a group of fervent climate change deniers appeared on the website of one of the nationals Monday afternoon and ruffled a few more feathers in Whitehall, but other news sites seemed to be ignoring the story so far. Mycroft sat back in his chair and looked at Anthea as he flicked a dismissive hand at his laptop. "One need only consider which paper broke the story and its well-earned reputation for relying on dubious sources to understand why."

#####

 _Tuesday afternoon_

"What was that about?" John Watson turned back to Sherlock as the lab door swung shut behind Molly. "Why were you so rude?"

Sherlock finished adjusting the microscope, then asked in a tone of bored indifference as he focused on the next slide. "To whom?"

"To _Molly,_ you git!" John exhaled noisily. "What's going on, Sherlock?"

"I don't know what you mean," he said without looking up until he heard John's determined footsteps moving toward the door. "Where are you going?"

"To see if Molly's all right."

Sherlock scowled, but turned back to his microscope without comment.

#####

Rumors that a "person of significance" to the Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs had been given a slap on the wrist after illegally purchasing Class-A opioids had warranted brief stories in a couple of nationals Tuesday. Then a new story broke Wednesday morning - and quickly spread across broadcast and internet news sites -claiming that an assistant whip in the Treasury Department had secured a property remortgage upon much more favorable terms than available to the general public in exchange for using her influence in regard to an upcoming vote on new banking regulations. That latest allegation of a government-related scandal gave cause for more prominent members of the press to look at others that had gained little attention from them over the previous three days.

 _Wednesday afternoon_

Molly had just set aside Mr. Bellamy's chest plate and was studying his heart and lungs while doing her best to ignore Sherlock, who was standing about six feet beyond the other side of the table and closely watching every move she made. Greg Lestrade and John were talking quietly on the far side of the room, but she'd noticed them occasionally glancing between her and Sherlock.

She'd reached the point of removing the heart and had cut the interior vena cava and pulmonary veins and was about to cut the aorta when Sherlock suddenly huffed in annoyance. "What are you doing?" Molly looked up, startled. "You haven't cut the pulmonary artery."

Molly looked from him to the body on the table between them. "I'm getting there, Sherlock, as you well know."

He ignored that. "If you can't be bothered to do the PM properly, we can always ask Dr. Merriman to take a look."

 _"_ _Shut up, Sherlock!"_ Molly and Sherlock both started at John's outburst and turned to watch as he strode toward them in full military mode, with Greg trailing behind. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

Molly lifted her hands from the chest cavity and regarded John calmly. She thought she knew what was going on with Sherlock, but he'd yet to confront her. When John's gaze shifted to her from Sherlock, she shrugged and tried to keep her expression neutral. She looked away as John grabbed Sherlock's arm and, ignoring his protests, pulled him across the room. Greg gave Molly a sympathetic smile and followed them.

Molly hesitated a few more moments, observing Sherlock's defiant expression before lowering her eyes to Mr. Bellamy and getting on with her job.

#####

Mycroft ascended the seventeen steps mid-morning Thursday with slow, steady deliberation, paused briefly within the open doorway, then crossed the room and lowered himself onto the chair by the fireplace, right hand resting on the handle of his umbrella. As the dust motes resettled around him, Mycroft eyed the recumbent form of his brother, then sighed. "All right, Sherlock," he said evenly, "you have my attention. What's this about?"

Silence was the only response, then Sherlock sprang to his feet with a swirl of blue dressing gown, stepped bare-footed onto and off of the coffee table, and swept past Mycroft and on down the hall without pause, without acknowledgment.

Mycroft's eyelids dropped and his lips tightened into a thin line as he drew a long, deep, silent breath … then opened his eyes and stared fixedly at his fingers twirling the umbrella one direction, then the other … and waited.

 _"_ _Why are you still here?"_

Mycroft ignored the brusque demand and remained unruffled, biding his time. His patience was soon rewarded when Sherlock stalked by him in apparent high dudgeon and dramatically threw himself into his chair. Mycroft met his gaze placidly, knowing his brother wouldn't be able to hold in for long whatever had him in such a strop.

"I'm not sorry," Sherlock finally said. "They were all hypocrites, and I find my tolerance level for hypocrisy to be in the range of – _hmmm_ , what is it? Oh yes … _nil_ these days."

Mycroft continued to regard Sherlock calmly. "And is this course of exposing hypocrisy to continue on an upward trajectory through the ranks of officialdom?"

"It might."

"You've already caused disruptions in several departments. If they reach Cabinet level, some delicate negotiations could be affected," Mycroft said, seemingly indifferent as he again focused on the umbrella handle pivoting one way and the other, but then his fingers stilled and his eyes met Sherlock's. "Don't make me take steps to stop you, Sherlock."

"I'd like to see you try -"

"No, Sherlock," Mycroft said evenly. "You really wouldn't."

The brothers' eyes held for several charged moments until the younger man's gaze dropped and he reached for his violin and began plucking random notes on it. Mycroft rose to his feet and swung his umbrella in an arc to rest against his shoulder as he headed toward the door, suppressing a flinch at the discordant screech his brother achieved with his bow.

 _"_ _Caring is not an advantage,"_ Sherlock sneered from behind him as he set the instrument aside. Mycroft paused in the doorway and cocked his head as his brother continued, _"Don't get involved."_ Sherlock snorted derisively. _"I'm living in a world of goldfish,"_ he scoffed. Mycroft's calm expression held as he shifted fully around to face Sherlock, but his jaw tightened and a muscle twitched in his cheek once, twice. "I _saw,_ Mycroft."

Mycroft's brows flicked upward. "Saw what?"

"You." When Mycroft continued to look at him questioningly, Sherlock clarified, "You. And Molly."

Mycroft's expression didn't change, but his grip tightened on the umbrella. "Where and when did this supposed sighting take place?"

"At Molly's, early Sunday morning."

Mycroft's brows leveled as he schooled his features into an unreadable mask. "You did not see me with Miss Hooper, Sherlock."

Sherlock's face screwed up in disgust. "I didn't catch you in the act with her, but you were there," he insisted. "Don't bother denying it. You were _there._ I saw your coat and scarf." He scowled, then added waspishly, "And umbrella."

Mycroft suppressed a sigh and calmly returned to sit across from his brother. "And all the trouble you've caused this week was because of that?"

"You're a hypocrite, Mycroft … The King of the Hypocrites," Sherlock said bitterly. _"'Caring is not an advantage,'_ you said. _'Don't get involved,'_ you said, and now you're having sexual relations with Molly."

Mycroft settled back in the chair with a sigh. "One does not automatically cancel out the other, little brother. The two concepts are not mutually exclusive."

Sherlock stared at him. "But it's _Molly._ You _must_ care for her."

"I respect Miss Hooper," he said evenly, "but we are not in a romantic relationship."

A range of emotions raced across Sherlock's face - confusion, shock, accusation. "You're _using_ Molly."

 _"_ _You're_ accusing _me_ of using Miss Hooper? That's rich, even for you, little brother. The entire history between you two has been you manipulating her for your benefit." When Sherlock frowned, he added, "I assure you anything that may have occurred between Miss Hooper and me has been of mutual convenience and equal benefit."

Sherlock's gaze narrowed. "Would Molly confirm your surmise?"

Mycroft abruptly rose to his feet. "This is none of your concern, Sherlock."

Sherlock's expression smoothed as he rested his chin on his steepled fingers, then looked at Mycroft from under his brows. "It could be," he said significantly.

Mycroft's gaze hardened. "That's beneath you, little brother. Do not mess Miss Hooper about as a way to get back at me."

"Why should you care? You don't care about her."

"Miss Hooper has been a good friend to you over the years. She's never done anything to hurt you – certainly not deliberately." Mycroft's chin lifted as he stared down his nose at his brother. "Can you say the same?"

Sherlock didn't respond, and Mycroft turned toward the door. He paused at the threshold and turned his head to the side. "The supposed hypocrisy of certain members of Her Majesty's Government is not your concern," he said evenly, then turned back to Sherlock. "From now on you will keep their secrets to yourself."

"Will I?"

"Yes, Sherlock … you will."

#####

When Sherlock paid the driver and joined his parents on the pavement Friday morning, Violet Holmes looked from the taxi pulling away from the curb to the brick façade of the block of flats. "Where is this, Sherlock? Why are we here?"

Ignoring his mother's questions, Sherlock moved around her to push open the outer door, shepherded his parents into the front entry hall and then urged them up the stairs to the first floor. He did have a sufficient sense of self-preservation not to use his lock pick in front of them and instead rapped sharply on the flat's door. He again ignored his mother's whispered question as to whose flat it was.

The door swung open a few moments later, and Molly's eyes widened before swiftly shifting from Sherlock to the older couple. She started to greet them, then abruptly stooped to catch Toby before he could escape out the door. "Sherlock?" She rubbed her chin against the cat's head as she looked at the visitors curiously before stepping aside. "Come in," she said. "I'm working the late shift today."

Sherlock snorted as he rolled his eyes. "I'm well aware of that fact, Molly. Hence our arrival at your flat, rather than Barts."

Molly led the way to the open space between sitting room and kitchen, then turned to face them uncertainly, not sure whether to offer them a seat on the sofa for a visit or at the dining table for tea.

"Mummy, Dad … let me introduce you to Mycroft's new friend, Molly Hooper." Sherlock gave Molly a toothy smile that reeked of insincerity, and she braced herself. "Molly, these are my parents, Siger and Violet Holmes." The other three exchanged tentative smiles before turning curious looks on Sherlock, whose gaze was flitting back and forth between his parents – almost nervously, Molly thought with sudden dread. "I thought you'd be proud to have proof positive that your elder son has more than ice water in his veins. Mycroft and Molly have been shagging every chance they got over the last few months."

 _"_ _Sherlock!"_ Violet's loud rebuke drowned out any other verbal reactions. Molly felt utterly humiliated and then light-headed as the blood seemed to drain toward her feet and she staggered the few steps to the kitchen and groped for a chair before falling onto it and dropping her head between her knees. A few moments later, she felt a gentle hand brush over her hair. "I'm sorry, Miss Hooper. We did try to raise Sherlock to behave properly, but we seemed to have lost control somewhere in his teens." Molly finally looked up, red-faced, when Violet sat in the chair beside her. "I don't know what Sherlock could have been thinking to bring us here," she said vexedly. "He's always doing his best to aggravate his brother, but why would he think his father and I have any say about what Mycroft does in his private life? Mycroft's a grown man." She paused, then continued with obvious curiosity. "And you're a grown woman."

Molly's flush intensified. "Mrs. Holmes –"

"Forgive me, Miss Hooper," Violet broke in, patting Molly's hand. "I can't on one hand say it's none of our business, then try to fish for information with the other." She shifted her legs to the side and looked across the room at Sherlock and Siger, who had settled on the sofa. "We're leaving," she said to them as she got up.

"Would you like some tea before you go?"

Violet shook her head, smiling. "No, my dear, but thank you. You're being a lot more gracious than I would have been under similar circumstances."

Molly didn't look at Sherlock as she saw them out, but felt strangely comforted by the singularly sweet smile Mr. Holmes gave her before following his wife through the door. As soon as she shut the door, she made a beeline for the sofa and fell onto it face down, hoping to wake up later and realize the past ten minutes had just been a bad dream. But then Molly groaned and sat up, frowning as she really considered the fact that Sherlock knew their secret … that his _parents_ knew … _Oh god_ \- how was _Mycroft_ going to react?

#####

Molly had just returned the body to cold storage after finishing a post mortem early Friday afternoon when the morgue door opened. She glanced over her shoulder while continuing to wash her hands, then turned back to the sink without comment and took her time shutting off the tap and drying her hands.

"Mycroft says he lives in a world of _goldfish,"_ Sherlock said without any greeting, then continued remorselessly. "He doesn't care about … _people._ He doesn't have friends. He doesn't need anybody."

Molly finally turned around and leaned her back against the sink. "I don't believe that's true, Sherlock. He obviously needs _you_ … and your parents."

Sherlock scoffed. "He can't get rid of us, we're family. We simply represent another duty to him and he avoids dealing with us as much as possible."

"I think it's the other way around entirely, Sherlock," she said. "I've seen how you act toward Mycroft. You seem to do everything you can to push him away – to make him _stay_ away – and yet he keeps coming back for more of your abuse."

"And I suppose he's done nothing but complain to you about me since he became your _boyfriend,"_ Sherlock sneered.

"Mycroft isn't my _boyfriend_ , it's just –" Molly broke off.

 _"_ _Sex,"_ he hissed, making a moue of distaste. "Yes, Mycroft said it was mutually convenient and of equal benefit - that you don't _care_ about each other. Doesn't that rather lower your relationship to the level of animals?"

Molly felt a combination of anger, humiliation and pain at such a characterization, but focused on the anger and tried to set other emotions aside. "Or _fish_ , yes – and in this case, Sherlock, the _goldfish_ caught the _shark._ Mycroft did nothing to start this thing between us. Your brother was at an obviously low point the day Moriarty's message was broadcast over every screen, and I came upon him and took advantage. So _thank_ you, Sherlock," she said contemptuously, leaning toward Sherlock and glaring up at him from beneath her brows. "I know you had a starring role in whatever drama took place that day, and the after-effect on Mycroft has led to months of the most intense pleasure I could ever have imagined."

Molly abruptly straightened when the morgue door opened and Mike Stamford stopped just inside to stare at them. She glanced at Sherlock, who seemed frozen in place, hardly even breathing. She'd suddenly had enough of anything Holmes-related and didn't look at Sherlock as she brushed past him and strode briskly to the door. She paused by Mike ... "Did you need me? _No?_ Good" … then pushed through the door without looking back.

#####

After Sherlock left his parents at their hotel, they discussed for some time how to handle what had occurred – whether to tell Mycroft, what his reaction might be if they did, and how doing so might affect whatever relationship he'd so unexpectedly – to _them_ , at least - started with the young pathologist from St. Bartholomew's Hospital. They had an early lunch and discussed it further, then reluctantly decided Mycroft must be told, if only to be prepared to address whatever reaction Miss Hooper might ultimately have to the sudden disclosure to them – to _strangers_ \- of what she'd have justifiably considered her personal business.

"Mummy? Are you and Dad all right?"

"Hello, dear," Violet said, glancing at her husband with raised brows as Mycroft answered her call. "Yes, we're fine … and in town."

"Oh?"

Violet couldn't help but snort at Mycroft's suddenly cautious tone. "Don't worry – we won't be barging in on you without notice. We're treating ourselves and staying at the Savoy through Sunday since we have theatre tickets for tonight and for matinee and evening performances in the West End tomorrow," she said, then smiled as she added, "and you can relax, dear boy, since for once we won't be badgering you about accompanying us."

Mycroft leaned back in his chair. "You know you and Dad are always welcome to stay at my house -"

"Yes, when we've given you plenty of time to brace yourself for a visit," she countered teasingly, then drew a deep breath and went on more seriously. "I hate to have to tell you this, son, but your brother –"

"Oh _god_ – what's Sherlock done now," he groaned dramatically, for the moment forgetting he was at work, though luckily sitting in a sound-proofed office.

"It's about Miss Hooper."

Mycroft straightened abruptly and hesitated a few moments before asking, nonchalantly, "Miss Hooper?" He was unconsciously tapping his pen against the desk while waiting for a response.

"Yes, Sherlock –"

Mycroft's muscles tensed as he waited for her to continue, determined not to act too interested. "Sherlock," he prompted her gently after several moments had passed.

"He took us to Miss Hooper's flat this morning and –"

Mycroft pressed his lips tightly together to keep from swearing, most filthily. "Yes?"

"He introduced us, then said the two of you had been, um … having a relationship for some months." Mycroft was exceedingly glad at that moment for Sherlock to be out of reach because the urge to throttle him was almost overwhelming. "Miss Hooper was certainly caught by surprise - and obviously quite upset," she observed after a few moments silence, "but she was also more gracious than anyone could have expected under the circumstances."

When it seemed his mother was going to say nothing more, Mycroft prompted her. "And then?"

"That's all," Violet said, then paused again before going on. "Miss Hooper was so embarrassed, Mikey. I thought it best that we leave her flat as soon as possible." She sighed heavily. "Why would Sherlock do that to her?"

"Miss Hooper has been a good friend to Sherlock for some years and has always been willing to assist with his experiments. She's also had a bit of an unrequited crush on him. I suspect Sherlock's reaction is partly a case of dog in the manger, but I can't speak for my brother, Mummy," he said evenly. "You'll have to ask him." As Mycroft would be doing at the first opportunity, with much less consideration than his parents would have for his brother's feelings.

#####

On leaving Barts for her dinner break late that afternoon, Molly noticed the sleek black car idling at the curb and hesitated as the back window smoothly lowered. Her eyes briefly met Mycroft's before she turned away and began walking in the general direction of the café, not faltering when he softly called her name, but wondering how in the world he'd known when she'd be leaving the hospital for her break or that she'd be leaving at all mid-shift. A few moments later, out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the car was keeping up with her, the smooth purr of the powerful engine almost eerie in its quietness. "Molly, would you please stop," Mycroft continued in that soft voice, pitched low to avoid drawing any more attention than the car had already given rise to as it eased along the curb at a snail's pace. "We need to talk." Molly ignored Mycroft and kept walking along the pavement, so he increased the volume. "Get into the car, Molly."

She automatically responded to the sudden authority in his voice and had taken a step toward the car, before stopping. "No," she said calmly and started walking again.

"Get in the _fucking_ car!"

Molly almost smiled at witnessing Mycroft Holmes get frustrated to the point of losing his temper and acting like a normal human being. For a moment, she wondered how he'd react if a traffic warden were suddenly to appear. Molly stopped, the car stopped, then she stepped closer and bent toward the open window. "No," she repeated calmly. "If you're feeling lonely, Mycroft, just have your driver take you to the nearest pet shop. I believe you'll find that goldfish are easily replaced and you'll never even know the difference." And with that she did an about face and headed back toward Barts, deciding she'd eat in the canteen.

Mycroft grabbed the door handle, prepared to go after her, but hesitated when he considered the ensuing scene that was likely to occur and in front of an audience. A better result would more likely be achieved if they both had time to cool off. Mycroft realized he was rubbing both temples and dropped his hands to his lap as he released a long breath. Only then did he meet Mark's eyes in the rearview mirror and lift his chin as a signal for his driver to move on.

#####

Molly's text alert sounded shortly after she arrived home late that night:

 _\- I'm sorry, Molly, for the scene Sherlock subjected you to with my parents. I'd have preferred to apologize in person, but needs must. My apologies, too, for losing my temper this afternoon and speaking to you so intemperately. MH_

Molly knew Mycroft didn't like to text, but figured he thought it the best recourse after her earlier reaction to his attempt to talk to her. She read over his message again and had to laugh. Who but Mycroft would have texted "intemperately"?

 _\- As difficult as it may be for you to believe, you're only human, Mycroft. If you need me to forgive you for reacting like one, I do, but I won't accept your apology for the rest of it. It's not yours to offer. What Sherlock did is not your fault._

Less than a minute passed before Mycroft replied.

 _\- May I see you tonight?_

 _\- When?_

 _\- Now?_

Molly opened the flat's door, mobile in hand, not actually expecting Mycroft to be on the other side, and yet there he was. Molly stepped back as he walked in, pocketing his phone, then left him removing his coat and headed to the kitchen to fill the kettle. She busied herself with tea preparations when he came into the kitchen and settled at the table behind her, but finally turned around and leaned against the worktop, arms crossed defensively, when Mycroft cleared his throat. "My parents had no idea where Sherlock was taking them this morning or what he planned to do," he said.

Molly's eyes held his for a few moments longer, then she nodded and dropped her arms. "I know," she said, "it was obvious they were shocked to meet me."

"Shocked? No, but they likely were surprised to learn that a young, attractive, warm-hearted woman like yourself would spend time with such a cold fish as I," he said wryly.

"If they think that, they don't know you at all," she protested - much too passionately, she thought and quickly turned away. She finished preparing the tea tray, then carried it to the table and took a chair across from him.

They sipped their tea in silence until Mycroft finally set his cup on its saucer and sighed. "I can't do this anymore, my dear."

"Can't have tea?" Molly said, trying to infuse a bit of humor into the situation.

"Molly," he chided, shaking his head. "I already have enough to blame myself for in regard to Sherlock. And you're certainly aware of the demons that plague him and what a challenge it is to keep him from succumbing to their lure." He took another sip of tea, then set down the empty cup and pushed the saucer aside. "These last few months have been particularly difficult." He lowered his eyes to his clasped hands, which were resting on the table in front of him. He rubbed one thumb over the other, then lifted his eyes to hers. "I can't discuss the details, but believe you are at least partly aware of what occurred at Christmas." When Molly nodded uncertainly, he continued. "A decision concerning how to respond to Sherlock's actions has been suspended, but only unofficially. There are interested third parties keeping a close eye on his activities, just waiting for sufficient reason to override the current deferment and take official action against him."

Mycroft studied Molly's expression, then sighed as he leaned across the table and took her hand. "I cannot allow any personal inclination of mine to increase the strain on my relationship with my brother and cause even more of a breakdown in communication. It's no longer simply a matter of how any self-destructive behavior affects Sherlock's health and mental stability, but now his freedom could be at stake."

They regarded each other in silence for several moments, then Molly pulled her hand away and rose to her feet. "I do understand, Mycroft," she said as she gathered their tea cups and carried them to the sink. She then turned to lean against the worktop and gave a short and humorless laugh. "Sherlock has no appreciation for how much people do for him – no gratitude or real understanding," she said. "We – all of us in his little circle of friends - let him get by with so much and justify it as 'oh that's just Sherlock being Sherlock,' and we've done it time after time. And we'll continue to do it again and again, because it _is_ just Sherlock being Sherlock. No matter how much he's hurt me or driven me spare, I always forgive him even though he doesn't ask for it." She crossed her arms and released a long breath. "Sherlock's been acting out a bit at Barts this week and is obviously angry with me. I started to wonder if he'd found out about us somehow, but he hadn't confronted me so I couldn't address it." She paused, grimacing. "He may not want me for himself, but he resents the thought that he might not be my favorite Holmes brother." She gave him a dry smile. "In some ways, he's a six year old and must be dealt with appropriately."

When Mycroft rose to his feet and walked over to her, Molly couldn't stop herself from moving closer and resting her hand on his arm … and unwittingly brushing her fingers over the fine wool of his jacket. Molly glanced up at Mycroft, then quickly dropped her hand and stepped as far back as she could with the sink behind her, lowering her eyes as she felt the tension rise between them. But when Mycroft offered Molly his hand, she took it … then let him tug her to him and met him halfway when his head lowered toward hers and reached for his shoulders, lifting higher against him when he kissed her … and opened her mouth when his tongue gently probed the seam of her lips … and eventually pulled away and stared at him, holding his eyes as she edged sideways … then towed him behind her until they reached the side of her bed … and went into his open arms and pressed her body flush against his, moaning as her fingers dug into his back.

Mycroft lifted his mouth from hers, holding her gaze as he cupped the side of her face. "Don't cry, Molly," he said, rubbing his thumb over her cheek, then he kissed her again, very lightly, before resting his chin on top of her head.

"I'm n-not," she said, well aware that a tear had escaped, and bit the inside of her cheek to try to stop any more from falling. The tension gradually eased between them and Molly pressed herself closer for a few moments before loosening her hold. "We can't do this – not when it'd be the last time," she said, finally releasing him and sinking to the edge of the bed. "You must know that I want you, Mycroft," she said, looking up to meet his eyes, "but I'd rather remember the way it was between us last weekend than have it end like this."

Mycroft sighed as he sat beside her and took her hand. "I understand," he said.

They sat quietly for a while, then Molly asked, "Would you lie here with me for a few minutes?" She bit her lip when Mycroft stood, thinking he was going to refuse, but then he removed his jacket and crossed the room to arrange it on the clothes valet. Molly toed off her shoes before scooting over to stretch out on her side, then watched as he sat on the bed, took off his shoes and shifted to lie beside her. "What are you going to do about Sherlock?"

"God knows," he said, then sighed as he reached for her hand and threaded their fingers together. "Find something to keep him busy that he'll accept. If he'd agree, I could keep him fully occupied, but he resents my involvement."

"Greg Lestrade can help," she said.

"But a Detective Inspector can hardly manufacture cases and even then the cases have to be interesting enough to rate Sherlock's involvement."

Molly sighed and squeezed his hand. "I'll do what I can at Barts when he wants to start working with me again, assuming he ever does."

"I'm sure he will soon. If nothing else, Sherlock will want the body parts you can provide - and isn't _that_ a strange comment to make about one's brother" [Molly snorted] "… and one's … friend." Molly had to blink quickly and bite her lip to keep a sob from escaping at his calling her that. Mycroft sighed and sat up. "I need to go," he said, then twisted to look down at her. "Thank you, Molly Hooper," he whispered as he leaned over to kiss her on the forehead.

Mycroft shifted to the side of the bed and bent to put on his shoes before rising to his feet. After donning his jacket, he came back to the side of the bed, slipped his hand into his trousers pocket, and pulled out his key ring. Molly watched as he removed her key and carefully placed it on the bedside table, then returned the small smile he gave her before he turned away. "Thank you, Mycroft Holmes," she called to him, forcing another smile when he looked at her over his shoulder just before going out the door and quietly closing it behind him.

Molly lay there listening intently until she heard the flat's outer door click shut, then she rolled over, buried her face in the pillow that still smelled like Mycroft, and let the tears flow as she realized, now that it was over, that it must have been love after all.


	8. The Fallout

_Summary: A (very brief) treat - I hope - for those of you who simply can't wait for Sherlock to feel the consequences of his actions ... and, yes, more will be coming soon!_

 _#####_

Mycroft Holmes' upper lip curled in distaste as he eyed yet another plastic bag and set it aside to dig deeper, trying to find an appropriate frozen package … almost anything with non-human contents would do. _Ah._ A bag of frozen peas, apparently suffering a bad case of freezer burn, but perfect for Mycroft's purposes. He quickly searched several kitchen drawers – another lip-curling experience – until he located a clean tea towel, which he wrapped around the peas before returning to the sitting room to stand over Sherlock, who was still inelegantly sprawled half on and half off the sofa.

Sherlock's eyelids lifted partway and his eyes briefly met Mycroft's before hurriedly shifting to his offering. He sat up with a muffled groan, then reached for the makeshift ice-pack and held it against his lower face as he sank back onto the cushions and closed his eyes.

After taking a seat, Mycroft crossed his legs, leaned his head against the back of the chair, and then – with a fleeting glance from under his brows at Sherlock - carefully spread and stretched the fingers of his right hand before discreetly rubbing the knuckles with his other thumb. The single jab had been sheer instinct, without planning or conscious thought, and he'd felled his brother with one sharp, forceful blow to the chin.

Mycroft suppressed a sigh and settled more comfortably into the armchair, closing his eyes as the silence settled around them.

"It's just as well you don't care about Molly," Sherlock eventually remarked matter-of-factly as he flipped the icepack to its cooler side. "Otherwise, you might have broken my jaw."

"There's still time," Mycroft calmly observed, then his lids slowly lifted and his eyes met Sherlock's. "From now on, brother dear, if I were you I'd watch what I say about or to Miss Hooper."

Sherlock snorted as he shifted his gaze to the ceiling. "Oh, yeah … not one jot."

A crease appeared between Mycroft's brows as he stared uncomprehendingly at his brother, but he refused to give Sherlock the satisfaction of rising to his bait. A few moments later, Mycroft rose to his feet and crossed the room to put on his coat and scarf, then paused as he reached for his umbrella. "By the way, Sherlock … Mummy said to tell you she expects you for lunch tomorrow - one o'clock," he said smoothly, then exited the flat with a smile on his face and the sound of Sherlock's pained groan in his ears.


	9. Aftermath

_Summary: Just what caused Mycroft to react as he did in "The Fallout" ... and what happens as a result of his actions?_

 _[Author's Note: I've repeated the "Fallout" scene here since it was so short and shows the full scene in context.]_

#####

Half past one in the morning, settled deep in his favorite chair, long legs stretched toward the fire, lights low … Mycroft Holmes raised his head as he took another sip of his drink, then set the whisky glass on the side table. He relaxed against the chair back with a tired sigh, his eyelids drooping as he stared at the dying embers before being lulled into a light doze by the slow, soporific _tock … tock … tock_ … from the longcase clock in the hall ….

 _~Two hours earlier~_

"Simon? A detour if you please … to my brother's."

Mycroft sat back, staring unseeingly out the window as he took up the argument with himself again. He'd felt edgy since leaving Molly's and knew that confronting Sherlock in his presently unsettled mood would likely do nothing but lead to more conflict. He was further unsettled by the small part of him – small, but irritatingly persistent – that _wanted_ a confrontation, and the sooner, the better. His more rational side, the one he lived his life by, advised that he exercise his usual prudence and bide his time before responding to his brother's deliberate provocation. Besides, Sherlock might already be in bed … which Mycroft knew was highly unlikely even as the thought occurred to him.

Ten minutes later, they made the turn onto Baker Street and the car drew up outside the flat. Mycroft tilted his head to study the first floor windows, then pressed his lips together at seeing the thin slit of light showing along the edge of the sitting room drapes. _That's it then._

As he pushed the car door open, Mycroft heard the low sound of Sherlock's violin. Moments later, his brows flicked upward when he unlocked the street door and recognized the Brahms sonata wafting down the stairwell. The slow tempo and minor key of the _adagio_ passage hardly suited the state of mind he'd expected to find Sherlock in.

The music faded away when Mycroft reached the first floor landing. "Do come in, brother dear." Now _that_ … the insolent tone … was as expected.

Mycroft stopped inside the door to remove his coat and scarf and hang up his umbrella. He glanced around the room, his gaze lingering for a few moments on the revolting mess that cluttered the kitchen table while he briefly considered the potential as a biohazard … then his eyes met Sherlock's as he lowered himself into the chair facing his brother. "Sherlock," he said calmly, crossing his legs.

Sherlock's lips twisted, then one shoulder lifted in a dismissive shrug as he set the violin and bow aside. He deliberately slouched lower into the chair and stretched his legs out, wiggling his bare toes for a few moments before crossing his ankles. "Why are you here," he asked carelessly as his fingers drummed an uneven rhythm on the edges of the armrests.

Mycroft jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth, and several moments elapsed before he responded. "Try as I might," he finally said, as evenly as possible, "I can find no justification for your actions this week, Sherlock."

"And I thought you were the smart one."

"I _am_ the smart one." Mycroft briefly closed his eyes, exasperated with himself for rising to such stale bait. "This has been petty, little brother," he went on, meeting Sherlock's gaze. "It's been childish - and, in the case of Miss Hooper, _cruel_ \- and I find the latter insupportable, if not unforgivable." Mycroft's expression hardened further. "How could you have taken Mummy and Dad to her flat like that … _how?"_

"If your relationship was such a secret, you should have been more careful."

"That's your defense?"

"Why should you care if our parents know about Molly?"

"That's not the point, Sherlock, as you well know," Mycroft ground out. "You embarrassed Miss Hooper on purpose. What has she ever done to make you want to humiliate her that way?"

"Would you stop with the 'Miss Hoopers'. You being so formal under the circumstances makes me feel ill." Sherlock shot to his feet and started pacing around the room. "Molly's supposed to be my friend, not yours."

"You treat your 'friends' very poorly, Sherlock, and I don't mean just Miss – _Molly."_ Mycroft watched his brother make another twitchy circuit around the sitting room, then released a long breath through his nose. "Molly's still your friend. Nothing that may have happened between us changes that. However, the potential effect of y _our_ actions on how she sees you is something else entirely."

"'May have happened'," Sherlock scoffed. "Admit it, brother dear … you've been _screwing_ her."

 _"_ _Sherlock!"_ Mycroft surged to his feet, blocking Sherlock's path, then forced his muscles to relax as he watched his brother's restless movements and felt the nervous energy emanating from him. "Have you taken something?"

Sherlock's gaze stopped flitting around the room and focused on Mycroft's. "No."

Mycroft held his eyes for several moments, then studied him carefully before sighing and stepping back to allow Sherlock to pass. "Why are you so agitated at the thought of –," he broke off as his brother stopped at the desk, still fidgeting as he flipped through some papers. "You've never been interested in Molly as anything other than a friend - if that," Mycroft said, then continued more tentatively. "Has that … changed?"

"Don't be absurd," Sherlock snapped, his movements finally stilling as he turned to face Mycroft. "Does Molly know you don't care for her? That it's just … _sex?"_

Mycroft's eyes closed and he drew a slow breath through his nose, finding it difficult to show restraint in the face of such an invasion of his privacy. "Molly and I do not have a romantic relationship," he said after a few moments. "Neither of us was interested in that." Mycroft briefly looked away, then their gazes met again as he continued. "Whatever it was, we've agreed to end it."

Sherlock's face went blank for a moment as he stared at Mycroft, then his expression and tone changed to one of bored indifference. "Are you sure she's not heartbroken? That she didn't want something more?" Sherlock stepped closer to his brother, watching him carefully. "Molly must pray to the patron saint of lost causes every night. After all, she spent years pining for me, long after it should have been obvious that her feelings were never going to be reciprocated." Mycroft started to turn away and so missed the calculating look Sherlock gave him, but not the snide remark. "I suppose for Molly's purposes one Holmes brother was just as good as the other once the lights went out –"

Mycroft swung around and punched Sherlock – a single, forceful jab to the point of his chin, sending him staggering backward until he landed half on, half off the sofa. Mycroft successfully overcame the instinct to help Sherlock up as he moved closer while unobtrusively flexing his right hand. Mycroft stood over him, studying the red mark spreading over Sherlock's jaw, and suddenly thought of his parents and their plans for the following day.

"If you're expecting an apology," Mycroft said as he turned toward the kitchen, "it will be a long wait." His footsteps paused mid-stride at the muttered "Ditto" that came from behind him, then he continued to the refrigerator to look for something cold to put on Sherlock's bruise – an effort that at first seemed likely to prove fruitless.

Mycroft's upper lip curled in distaste as he eyed yet another plastic bag and set it aside to dig deeper, trying to find an appropriate frozen package … almost anything with non-human contents would do. _Ah._ A bag of frozen peas, apparently suffering a bad case of freezer burn, but perfect for Mycroft's purposes. He quickly searched several kitchen drawers – another lip-curling experience – until he located a clean tea towel, which he wrapped around the peas before returning to the sitting room to stand over Sherlock, who was still inelegantly sprawled half off the sofa.

Sherlock's eyelids lifted partway and his eyes briefly met Mycroft's before hurriedly shifting to his offering. He sat up with a muffled groan, then reached for the makeshift ice-pack and held it against his lower face as he sank back onto the cushions and closed his eyes.

After taking a seat, Mycroft crossed his legs, leaned his head against the back of the chair, and then – with a fleeting glance at Sherlock from under his brows - carefully spread and stretched the fingers of his right hand before discreetly rubbing the knuckles with his other thumb. The single jab had been sheer instinct, without planning or conscious thought, and he'd felled his brother with one sharp, forceful blow. Mycroft suppressed a sigh and settled more comfortably into the armchair, closing his eyes as the silence settled around them.

"It's just as well you don't care about Molly," Sherlock eventually remarked matter-of-factly as he flipped the icepack to its cooler side. "Otherwise, you might have broken my jaw."

"There's still time," Mycroft calmly observed, then his lids slowly lifted and his eyes met Sherlock's. "From now on, brother dear, if I were you I'd watch what I say about or to Miss Hooper."

Sherlock snorted as he shifted his gaze to the ceiling. "Oh, yeah … not one jot."

A crease appeared between Mycroft's brows as he stared uncomprehendingly at his brother, but he refused to give Sherlock the satisfaction of rising to his bait again. A few moments later, Mycroft rose to his feet and crossed the room to put on his coat and scarf, then paused as he reached for his umbrella. "By the way, Sherlock … Mummy said to tell you she expects you for lunch tomorrow - one o'clock," he said smoothly, then exited the flat with a smile on his face and the sound of Sherlock's pained groan in his ears ….

# # #

The steady _tock_ from the escapement was joined by the sudden clicking of gears and a metallic whir as the hall clock prepared to chime. When the hammer struck the first note of the sequence, Mycroft abruptly straightened, shifted his gaze from the fire to his drink on the side table, and finished the whisky with a toss of his head. He stared at the dying fire awhile longer, considering the consequences of his earlier loss of composure while strenuously avoiding any conclusion as to its cause.

Eventually Mycroft sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, then rose to his feet and stooped to spread the last of the embers with the poker before closing the glass fire doors and making his weary way upstairs.

#####

 _Baker Street, Saturday morning_

Sherlock's fingers blindly searched the top of the night table for his mobile, then his hand quickly drew back under the covers.

"Mummy," he mumbled thickly, wondering why his tongue felt swollen – and sore, he noted with a wince. He suddenly realized he'd missed what his mother said … not that he really cared, but … "What?"

A disapproving sigh from the phone. "Are you still in bed, Sherlock? It's already half past ten and we're expecting you here by noon."

Sherlock tossed the bedclothes aside, emerging from beneath them with a spectacular scowl and a remarkable case of bedhead. _"Noon?_ Mycroft said one o'clock." Trust his brother to get it wrong deliberately.

"We've decided we'll need more time to have a proper lunch," she said, unruffled by the petulance in her son's voice. "Your father and I have to leave for the theatre by two."

"It's not really convenient –"

"We expect you to be here by noon, Sherlock," she said firmly. "Eating in our suite will allow more privacy to talk."

Well, _that_ sounded ominous. Sherlock stopped trying to determine the best way to get his mother off the phone to instead consider what he'd done recently that might warrant parental intervention in his – _Oh._

"Will it be just the three of us?" Quite nonchalant, that.

"Yes," his mother confirmed. "Your father and I thought it would be cozier and more conducive to a nice chat."

 _Oh god._

#####

 _The Savoy … one minute before noon_

Sherlock quickly stepped over the threshold when his father opened the suite's door, making sure his mother had no opportunity to stage a scene in the corridor. He didn't know whether to expect her usual affectionate embrace … or a slap across the face – figuratively, if not literally. Unlike Molly, his mother had never actually given in to such a temptation.

Either way, Violet swooped in and pounced on him all too soon.

"Sherlock," she greeted him fondly, then proceeded to squeeze the breath out of him. His eyes unintentionally met Siger's over her shoulder, and the younger man's scowl relaxed into an eye roll and a much less fierce twist of lips. Violet released him with a final kiss to his cheek, but her gaze settled for a moment on the red mark on Sherlock's chin before she turned away. "Come on, boys. We need to tuck in."

Siger rested a hand on his son's back and urged him to follow Violet to the table where their lunch was already set out. They'd ordered a rather light fare – smoked salmon, onion soup, vegetable crudités, apple crumble – both to tempt Sherlock into eating something and to avoid their usual Saturday afternoon drowsiness following a heavy mid-day meal. Their matinee tickets to the latest hit revival were in a prime spot and had thus been a bit steep, so they certainly didn't want to doze off halfway through the performance.

Sherlock suffered their attentiveness to both his plate and his palate. When he couldn't suppress a wince at the effect of salt on his sore tongue, Violet was quick to notice. "What's wrong, Sherlock? I thought you liked onion soup."

"This is fine, Mummy," he agreed obligingly. "I just have a sore place where I accidentally bit my tongue."

Violet's eyes were again drawn to, and quickly shifted away from, the red mark on his chin. Her gaze momentarily met her husband's in silent communication before they both turned back to their salmon. They continued to chat occasionally as the meal progressed, not pressing Sherlock to join in, until Violet was spooning up their pudding. "What was that really about yesterday, Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't attempt to act confused by her question. "I thought you'd like to know brother dear finally has a girlfriend." He paused, then added. "Had." Violet and Siger glanced at each other, but decided to ignore the implication of the correction.

"That ambush was very poorly done of you, son," Siger said after a few moments. "Very bad indeed." Sherlock looked up at that, finding it more difficult to face his father's disappointment than his mother's wrath. "It was not the act of a gentleman, Sherlock – and certainly not behavior to be expected from a friend. You deliberately embarrassed that young lady." Sherlock lowered his eyes to his plate, having no ready defense to the accusation. Siger sighed before continuing. "Why are you so angry with Molly?"

"I'm not –" Sherlock closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, hoping against hope that when he opened his eyes again, he'd be back at Baker Street and the visit with his parents would have been a bad dream. Sherlock sighed without realizing it and turned away to look out the window. Behind him, his parents' eyes met with the hope that they'd said enough and their son was actually thinking things through for himself.

Sherlock wasn't really angry, he was confused. Molly was _Sherlock's_ friend, not Mycroft's. His brother was supposed to be content to be alone, wasn't supposed to be interested in any goldfish - and particularly not one that belonged to Sherlock. Mycroft and Molly were both _his_ but they'd apparently forged some sort of _them_ that he wasn't part of. _Why was he angry with them?_ Mycroft had betrayed him by proving to be human after all. Molly had chosen Mycroft over Sherlock …, but even as the thought occurred, Sherlock realized it made no sense since he'd never wanted Molly that way.

"Why are you so angry with them, Sherlock," Violet asked quietly, hoping her timing was right. "What do you want them to do?"

"Mycroft told me they've ended it, whatever it was." Sherlock finally turned back and met his mother's eyes.

"Is that what you wanted? To break up whatever was between them?"

He didn't answer directly. "Mycroft doesn't need anyone."

"Mycroft doesn't _want_ to need anyone," she corrected. "And he's in such control of himself that he makes sure of it."

"He's always believed that caring is not an advantage," Sherlock said crankily.

"Caring isn't an advantage in some ways, darling," Violet agreed. "Caring certainly makes one more vulnerable, but caring can also make one stronger." She paused, then stretched across the table to grasp his hand. "Look at yourself, Sherlock. You've grown to care about a number of people. You've surrounded yourself with a wonderful group of friends. It may be small, but it's choice."

"They're not –"

"Don't even attempt to say they aren't friends," she said, patting his hand before sitting back. "I know what you did to protect John Watson, Detective Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. And you've accepted Mary into your circle of friends as well. But _Molly_ – well, Molly's something special, isn't she. She's the one you knew you could truly count on to help you, no matter what, whenever you needed it."

"Molly _loves_ me," he said mockingly.

"Sherlock, you should be ashamed of yourself," Violet said sharply, leaning forward again. "Molly _does_ love you."

"Then why was she with Mycroft?"

"Sherlock," she said, shaking her head. "You don't want Molly that way, do you?" She winced when he made a gagging noise. "That's rude, son, but I assume it's not targeted at Molly specifically." She considered him more closely. "You're hardly a child, my darling … you know the majority of people have certain needs –"

"Oh god," he groaned. "I'm going to be sick."

"Not a child, dear," Violet reminded him briskly. "It's absolutely _fine_ if you aren't interested in all that, but you can't begrudge those of us who are." She gave Siger a quick smile when her husband rested his hand on hers.

"But Mycroft's never –"

"Do you really know that, Sherlock? Do you know for a fact that your brother hasn't had prior relationships of some sort that he kept private from us?"

"He's never said –"

"Do you really expect that he would? No one's better at keeping secrets than your brother."

 _"_ _I'm_ better," he said, lips pushing out in a distinct pout.

"No, Sherlock … you're not," she said lightly. "You let things slip without always knowing it or when you just don't care at the moment." She tilted her head, considering whether to pursue the topic. "Sherlock, it's none of our business what your brother does in his private life - or whether he _has_ a private life. Your father and I may be curious -" she stopped to frown at Siger when he cleared his throat. "All right, _I_ may be curious about it – that's a mother's prerogative – but we have no right to intrude."

A few moments passed in silence, then Siger took over. "You need to make this right with Molly, son. As for your brother," he said, briefly lowering his gaze to the red mark on Sherlock's chin, "I'm sure he'll deal with you as he deems appropriate."

"Now hurry up and eat your pudding," Violet said. "Your father and I have to leave in less than an hour, and I want to hear all about your goddaughter."

Sherlock suppressed another scowl. While he was happy enough that the initial interrogation seemed to be over, having to come up with sufficient details about John's and Mary's newborn to satisfy his mother might prove to be just as stressful.

#####

The next morning, the senior Holmeses were enjoying a leisurely Sunday breakfast in the Thames Foyer when Siger nudged Violet's foot and discreetly tilted his head toward the grand entrance … where their elder son had just appeared, casually standing at the top of the short flight of stairs, one hand in his trouser pocket, as he carefully studied the room.

Violet glanced over her shoulder for a moment, then turned back to meet Siger's eyes as they shared yet again - for no doubt the thousandth time or more - the bemused wonder which came with the knowledge that this cool, elegant man had sprung from them … a man who was every bit as exotic in his own way as his younger brother. They continued eating, waiting for Mycroft to join them in his own time.

"Mummy? Dad?"

They looked up with convincingly happy surprise, they thought, then got to their feet to greet him properly – a relatively muted display which nevertheless required Mycroft to suppress a grimace before his mother finally released him. "Will you have something to eat, darling?"

"I've already had breakfast, Mummy, but I'll take some tea," he said, settling on the chair between them.

"You sure you don't want a croissant at least, son?"

"No thanks, Dad." Mycroft watched as his mother filled his teacup, then he gave his first sip far more attention than it deserved. He lifted his gaze and studied the effect of the morning light filtering through the stained glass cupola and lighting the wrought iron gazebo, then turned to his mother. "Did you enjoy the plays?"

Violet carefully swallowed a bite of smoky bacon before answering. By the time she'd finished her enthusiastic – and lengthy – review of two plays and one musical, Siger's plate and Mycroft's cup were both empty … and Mycroft's determinedly interested expression had long since faded into one of polite resignation.

"Isn't that right, dear?"

Siger cheerfully supported his wife's opinion as he had the other ten or so times she'd asked him to confirm some detail of her report. Mycroft glanced at his father, who met his gaze earnestly but with an underlying amusement that caused the corners of Mycroft's lips to curve up.

"More tea, dear? Mykie?" Mycroft suppressed a scowl at the hated nickname. Both men refused a refill, then rose to their feet when Violet started to push her chair back a few minutes later. Mycroft allowed his father to beat him to helping his mother stand, waited patiently while they gathered their things, and then fell into step behind them.

His father paused halfway across the room and glanced over his shoulder. "You _are_ coming to our suite for a visit, aren't you, son?"

"That's why I'm here, Dad," he replied evenly, showing no sign of the muscle-tightening tension he was fighting. He followed them into the lift, then down the corridor and through the door of their suite. As his parents settled on the sofa, Mycroft walked past them to stare out the large window, lowering his eyes to watch the boat traffic on the river for a few moments, before lifting his gaze to the Eye to study the way the surprisingly bright sun reflected off the slowly revolving capsules. He finally turned around, his gaze taking in the marble foyer, the artwork and furnishings before he looked at his parents, gave them a brief smile and strolled to the chair set at a right angle to them. While he would have expected his parents to choose an Edwardian suite, he was a bit surprised that they'd splurged on this particular one. "Go ahead then," he said calmly, arching a brow as he settled more comfortably into the chair and crossed his legs with languid grace.

Violet and Siger looked at each other, nonplussed by Mycroft's attitude, then turned back, only to find him regarding them with undisguised amusement. "I'm aware that you've already interrogated Sherlock, so I'm sure you have questions for me … and my intentions toward a certain Miss Molly Hooper." When they continued to stare silently, he continued unruffled. "I'll save time then. I _have_ no intentions toward Miss Hooper, or vice versa. We've lately become friends – or _friendly_ would be more accurate, I suppose." He stroked his cheek absent-mindedly, then gave them a brief smile. "She's really more Sherlock's friend than mine."

Violet's eyes held his for a moment, then she tilted her head sideways to examine him more closely … and his eyes slid away as he mentally braced himself. He schooled his features into a neutral mask when his mother sighed. "Oh, Mycroft," she said sadly. "This isn't Redbeard again – you don't have to sacrifice your claim on Molly to pacify your baby brother."

Mycroft scowled before he could catch himself, then rubbed a hand over his face and gave Violet a withering look. "I have no 'claim' on Miss – on _Molly,_ " he said evenly. "I've made no sacrifice. That's nonsense, Mummy."

"Son –"

 _"_ _No,_ Dad," Mycroft insisted, rising to his feet to loom over them. "There is nothing going on here that warrants my parents' concern." He suppressed another scowl as he turned away and walked to the window. "For god's sake … I'm forty-six years old. You don't need to keep worrying about me like this."

"We're always going to worry about you and Sherlock, Mykie," Violet said softly. "It's part of being a parent and loving you."

He turned from the window with a grimace and furrowed brows, then slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and leaned against the window sill. He looked from one concerned expression to the other, then exhaled noisily. "What more can I say to make you believe there is nothing …," Mycroft's voice trailed off at having such sad eyes fixed on him. "Oh for god's sake," he repeated as he pivoted on his heel and stared unseeingly out the window. "It doesn't matter about Molly." He heard movement behind him and could feel a muscle twitching in his cheek as he clenched his teeth. A few moments later, he flinched when his mother's arm slid around his waist.

Violet stared at the river scene, seeing movement in the water and on the bridges, but taking none of it in. "Sex is good for you, Mykie."

 _"_ _Mummy!"_ Mycroft twisted away and fixed an incredulous stare on his mother. He heard a snicker and turned to glower at Siger, who'd raised a hand too late to cover his mouth.

"Sex does help to relieve tension, son." Siger pressed his lips together on seeing Mycroft's indignant glare, but he couldn't suppress a chuckle when his eyes met Violet's. His laughter faded to a happy sigh as he held his wife's gaze. "It's sublime when you're with the right person."

Mycroft glanced from one parent to the other, then rolled his eyes at their air of distraction. "Get a room," he muttered, looking at each of them crossly before turning back to the window. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, frustrated at how easily he'd once again reverted to childhood in the presence of his parents.

"Come sit down, Mycroft," his mother said, slipping her arm around his waist again and urging him away from the window. Once they'd resettled on chair and sofa, Violet leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees and her chin on her clasped hands. "I'm sorry for teasing you, darling, but the point is valid. There's nothing wrong with having someone you can spend some 'quality time' with, especially with the intensity of your work load. You're old enough to know what you want and what you don't want. If you can find someone who wants the same thing, you should go for it." She straightened, then smiled as she relaxed against the sofa back. "Let yourself have some fun when time permits." She was relieved when a flicker of amusement finally crossed his features.

"So you're advising me to have a no-strings sexual relationship with someone," Mycroft said. "You're not going to try to convince me of the benefits of love and marriage and children –"

Violet suddenly sat up. "Well, if you'd really like to –"

"No, son," Siger broke in, and Violet slumped back again. "Your private life is none of our business other than the fact that we love you and want you to be content. If you're happy and feel better off being alone, we'll accept that. If you end up having someone in your life to share some special moments, we'd be so glad for you – whether it's Miss Hooper or someone else."

Mycroft shifted in the chair and crossed his legs, then plucked at the material covering his knee. "I'm sure Molly's had enough of anyone named Holmes."

"Well, you wouldn't have to be concerned about Sherlock's reaction this time," Violet said. "He doesn't care about what you might do … well, so long as it doesn't keep Molly from helping with his experiments."

Mycroft snorted. "Yes, so long as no one inconveniences him," he said drily, watching his fingers drum a beat on his knee. His fingers finally stilled when the silence went on for too long and he could feel his parents staring at him. "I think it best to leave things as they are," he said evenly, aiming an uncompromising stare first at his mother, then his father. "I function better on my own, and Molly will certainly be better off in the long run without the likes of me."

#####

Sherlock quietly entered the morgue mid-morning Monday, coming alone and without any attempt to call attention to himself, and hesitated uncertainly when Molly glanced up. When she lowered her eyes to the body without speaking, he waited for several uncomfortable moments before casually making his way across the room. He came to a stop about six feet from her and softly cleared his throat. "Good morning, Molly."

"Sherlock." She didn't look at him but knew he was watching her. "What do you want?" She weighed the heart, then set it aside to focus on the lungs.

"I'm sorry, Molly," he said. "Please forgive me."

Molly remained focused on her work for several moments, then sighed and lifted her gloved hands away from the body – still without looking at him. "What do you want this time, Sherlock?"

"I don't want anything, Molly – just for you to forgive me."

Molly raised her head and met his eyes. He looked to be in earnest, but Sherlock was brilliant at faking emotions he didn't feel. "For what, Sherlock? What specifically do you want me to forgive you for?"

"For being so rude to you last week," he quickly replied, "but especially for bringing my parents to your flat."

Molly lowered her eyes to Mr. Doyal's chest cavity but didn't lift the scalpel. "That was humiliating, Sherlock."

"I know, Molly, and I'm truly sorry."

She raised her gaze to meet his. "All right, Sherlock. I believe you, but I need to finish this PM." He looked so serious that she couldn't help but give him a small smile. "We'll talk again later, okay?"

"Yes - later," he swiftly agreed, nodding his head. "I'm sorry for interrupting you."

Molly tilted her head to study him more carefully, then snorted. "Better put a sock in it, Sherlock. You're losing credibility."

#####

Molly was surprised when Sherlock walked into her office after lunch, dropped onto the visitor's chair and commenced to study her so seriously that she leaned forward in concern. "What is it, Sherlock?"

"Anyone associated with Mycroft – anyone _known_ to be associated with him – is at risk. You need to decide whether you're willing to accept that risk because you'll likely have to convince Mycroft. He won't willingly put you in danger."

Molly settled back in her chair. "I'm sorry Mycroft has to live like that, but it's not my concern," she said. "Your brother and I are not involved." One brow arched in disbelief as he continued to stare at her. "There is _nothing_ going on between us," she insisted. "Whatever it was is over. Done. Buried."

"Then I suspect my brother may soon be using a spade for the first time in his habitually lazy life," he said.

"What are you – for god's sake, Sherlock … are you now _encouraging_ a relationship between us?"

"Certainly _not,"_ he sharply denied. "However," he continued after a few moments, "I won't do anything to interfere with whatever twisted, dissolute, licentious debauchery you two might choose to indulge in." Sherlock's grimace relaxed and his lips quirked when Molly couldn't resist laughing at his deliberate hyperbole. They regarded each other in unexpected harmony until he glanced away. After a few moments, he turned back to her with a scowl. "But please, Molly, for the love of god … don't _ever_ attempt to share any confidences with me." She smiled, but said nothing as he rose to his feet and swept toward the door, where he stopped and looked at her over his shoulder. "One other thing - if being with Mycroft starts to affect your work here, all bets are off."

Molly frowned once he'd left, then shook her head and turned back to her computer. Sherlock must be wrong. Whatever had been between her and Mycroft had been wedded to secrecy and a desire to set aside the rest of the world for a while – desired elements which were weakened, if not lost, now that his family knew. Additionally, continuing with their arrangement now would be a deliberate choice rather than succumbing to an unexpected temptation.

And, if Sherlock wasn't wrong, was Molly willing to run the risk of being involved with Mycroft – not the potential risk of physical danger, but the risk of further damaging her heart?

#####

Molly didn't hear from Mycroft the rest of that week or the following one or the next week after that. On leaving Barts on the third Friday after the pertinent conversation with Sherlock, she smiled - a bit grimly perhaps, but a smile – at the thought that The Consulting Detective had indeed been wrong. So very wrong.

#####

Eight days later, Molly had just finished her Saturday chores and was winding the vacuum's cord, starting to consider options for her evening meal, when she heard a knock on the flat's door. She noticed Toby look her way and turned her head to meet the cat's stare, then arched a brow humorously. "Are you expecting someone, Toby?" After a few moments, the knock was repeated a fraction louder. After hanging the end of the cord over the handle, Molly walked to the door, stooping to pick up Toby on the way, then reached for the knob with her free hand … and abruptly stepped backward, eyes wide, jaw dropped.

"Good evening, Molly," Mycroft said lightly and gave her a brief smile before lifting his chin at her feline companion. "Toby." When Molly continued to stare at him, speechless, he added, "May I come in?"


	10. Stipulations

_Summary: It's not over until ... well, even an optimist who'd finally given up hope can sometimes be surprised ..._

#####

Late Saturday afternoon, Molly Hooper had just finished her weekend chores and was winding the vacuum's cord, starting to consider options for her evening meal, when she heard a knock on the flat's door. She noticed Toby look her way and turned her head to meet the cat's stare, then arched a brow humorously. "Are you expecting someone, Toby?" A few moments later, the knock was repeated a fraction louder. After hanging the end of the cord over the handle, Molly walked to the door, stooping to pick up Toby on the way, then reached for the knob with her free hand … and abruptly stepped backward, eyes wide, jaw dropped.

"Good evening, Molly," Mycroft Holmes said lightly and gave her a brief smile before lifting his chin to acknowledge her feline companion. "Toby." When Molly continued to stare at him, speechless, he added, "May I come in?"

Molly quickly looked at Toby, shocked by his sudden protesting meow, then realized she was gripping him too tightly. "Sorry, Toby," she said before turning back to Mycroft. "Um, sorry," she repeated, stepping away from the door. "Come in." Rather than watch him remove his coat, she waved a hand toward the hooks, then hurried into the sitting room and perched her bottom on the back of the sofa.

As Mycroft walked in, Molly nuzzled Toby's neck to give herself a moment and then lowered the cat to the floor and shoved her hands under her thighs to hide their shaking. "Did you just leave the office?" _Brilliant opening, Molly._ "Would you, um, like a cup of tea?" As soon as the last word left her mouth, she pushed away from the sofa and hurried to the kitchen to hide her blush at the inadvertent reminder of how it all began.

"Thank you, Molly," Mycroft said as he followed her and took a seat at the table. Molly didn't reply and kept her back to him while filling the kettle. She was obviously uncomfortable and he briefly considered offering to leave. "Have you been well?" He suppressed a grimace at the inanity of the question. Apparently the discomfort wasn't Molly's alone.

Molly turned around and folded her arms as she leaned against the worktop. "What are you doing here, Mycroft?" Their eyes met and held, and Molly felt a flutter in her stomach and a blush tingling in her cheeks when his gaze visibly warmed. "Why are you here?" She dropped her arms and straightened nervously when he rose to his feet. "Uh, um," she mumbled when he moved toward her. "What are … Mycro-" The rest of his name was smothered by his lips. Although he'd braced his hands on the worktop's edge on either side of her, in effect caging her in, he was touching her with nothing other than his mouth, which made it easy enough to jerk her head back. "You have no right –"

"I know," he said, holding her gaze. "I know I don't, Molly, but I made a mistake."

Molly unconsciously licked her lips as she stared into his eyes. "A mistake?"

Mycroft sighed and lifted a hand to cup her face. "I listened to Sherlock." When Molly's eyes lowered to the knot of his tie, he dropped his hand and straightened. "No, that's too easy. I suppose the truth is that I used Sherlock's reaction and his rather precarious legal situation as an excuse to back away from you." He paused, and Molly's eyes lifted to his. "Could we have that tea?" She nodded. "May I help?" When she shook her head, he returned to his chair.

They remained silent while Molly finished preparing the tea and brought the tray to the table. After she'd filled their cups and taken a sip, she returned her cup to the saucer and raised her eyes to his. She noticed that he'd removed his tie, but didn't comment on it. "What do you want from me, Mycroft?"

"I've … missed you, Molly."

"Missed the sex, you mean."

"No," he said, then gave her a slow smile. "Well, yes - that too, of course, but I've missed _you."_

Molly pressed her lips together until the urge to return his smile passed. "And what do you expect me to do about that?"

Mycroft's expression fell into more neutral lines. "I don't _expect_ anything from you, Molly." They both focused on finishing their tea, then Molly lifted the teapot and raised her brows questioningly. "Would you rather I leave?" he asked.

"No," she said. "Do you want more tea?" Mycroft slid his cup and saucer toward her silently. "What I _would_ like," she said, sliding the filled cup back to him, "is some blunt talk. This thing between us – what _ever_ it was - started spontaneously. We both know it would _never_ have happened if I hadn't gone mad for a moment and instigated it." She stopped to take a sip of tea, then leaned back in her chair with a sigh. "I haven't seen you for a month and all that time I had no reason to believe you might be reconsidering our last conversation … and now here you are without any warning." She studied his expression for a few moments but was no closer to knowing what he was thinking. "Did you think we'd just continue –"

"I didn't plan to come here today, Molly," he said evenly. "I left a meeting and we passed Antonio's and I thought of you and I –" His gaze wandered slowly over her face, then his eyes closed as he took a deep breath and slowly released it. "I no longer knew why I was staying away."

"I don't want to pick up where we left off, Mycroft. I'd want to -" Molly stopped, uncertainly.

When she didn't continue, his eyes lifted to hers. "You'd want to …?"

Molly flushed at the thought of being the one to start the blunt talk, but reminded herself this man had seen _all_ of her. Every. Single. Inch. And she'd seen _him_. What were a few words measured against that? "I'd want to be able to think of it as a … as having an ongoing relationship."

Mycroft's brows twitched upward before he dropped his eyes, and the ensuing silence felt awkward to Molly. He finished his tea, slid the cup and saucer aside, then raised his gaze to hers again as he leaned back in his chair, mirroring her position. "What does that mean to you, Molly? It might be more effective if you tell me what you'd want to do differently … what to you would embody a relationship."

Molly's eyes widened when he didn't reject the label outright, but she was more surprised by the words that came from her mouth. "But - if you're willing to consider having more of a … _real_ relationship, wouldn't you want to find someone more suitable?"

His fingers stilled where he'd been brushing them against the tabletop. "Suitable? In what way?"

"Someone more …" - _sophisticated, beautiful, wealthy, posh -_ "… like you?"

"Like me," he echoed tonelessly. "You actually think I'd want to be with someone like me." He shook his head slowly, then gave her a humorless smile. "I'm surprised _you_ would want to be with someone like me … cold, detached, forbidding, work-obsessed -"

"Super-intelligent, powerful, handsome, elegant, kinder than you think you are, and, um, _hot._ Hot and sexy and, um, generous with it. And _efficient_ – you're, um, extremely efficient at getting the, um, job done ..." Molly trailed off, flushing again when Mycroft pushed his chair back and came around the table toward her. "What are you –" She broke off when he sat beside her, rested his arm on the table and covered her hand with his.

"Smart, capable, lovely, warm-hearted, sexy and responsive," he said as he turned her hand over and threaded his fingers between hers. "You inspire that 'efficiency'." Molly swiveled her head to look at him, but his eyes were lowered to their hands. "So tell me - what is it you'd want to do differently?" Her gaze dropped to watch as his thumb started smoothing the back of her hand.

"I suppose," she began then hesitated, and his thumb paused as well. "I suppose I'd like to stop feeling that I took advantage of you at a low point – that I used a vulnerable moment against you."

"Vulnerable," he scoffed, then lifted their clasped hands and kissed the back of her first two fingers. "Not vulnerable – just unexpectedly _open_ to you. Everything that happened here was by choice on both sides." He gave her a chiding glance. "We're getting side-tracked. Answer the question."

"All right," she said and lifted her chin. "When you weren't tied up with work and our schedules permitted, I'd like to spend more time with you. I'd like to feel welcome to call you at other times with the understanding that I wouldn't do it too often and that you either wouldn't answer or would tell me immediately if it was a bad time. I'd like to be able to tell my friends – well, just the few friends I ever share confidences with – that I was involved with someone. I wouldn't be indiscreet and share personal details, Mycroft, but I wouldn't enjoy keeping the relationship a complete secret either. I'd like to think we could occasionally go out somewhere together." Molly lifted her shoulders and gave him a wry smile. "Is that enough _'I-I-I'_ for now? What about you?"

He responded to the last bit first, with a sigh. "I don't … _date,_ Molly."

"You don't ever go to the symphony or ballet or plays or other such entertainments?"

"Very rarely, my dear."

"Well, if such a rare occasion came up when you _did_ want to go, would you be attending by yourself?"

Mycroft's lips pursed as he studied her expression. "Not any more, apparently."

Molly's heart rate sped up at that, but she assumed he didn't mean her to take the comment too literally. "Do you ever just go for a walk or a run or a swim or something like that? You must do some sort of exercise to be in such good shape."

"Being with you was the most 'exercise' of any regularity I'd had in a long time."

Molly snorted, but knew she was blushing. "I don't believe that."

"Nevertheless," he said with a quirk of his lips, before he continued more thoughtfully. "I have a treadmill and a few other pieces of equipment that I use, but unfortunately not on a routine basis. I sometimes swim when time permits and I think about it."

"Oh, I _love_ swimming! Where do you go to swim?"

"I have … access to a pool," he said. "Perhaps you'll join me there one day soon."

"Perhaps," she said lightly, quickly reminding herself that appearing before him in a swimsuit should be much less intimidating than being naked. "So … what would _you_ want to do differently?"

"I had no complaints before, Molly," he said, then smiled reassuringly, "but that doesn't mean I'm not willing to consider making a few changes." Mycroft let go of her hand to reposition his chair and then sat facing her head on, his expression set in more sober lines, and Molly shifted until she could look at him without having to turn her head. "However, those changes would come with certain restrictions."

"Go on," she said easily.

His brows twitched at her calm reaction. "While you wouldn't have to keep our relationship a secret from your closest associates, you'd have to be discreet – especially about anything you might overhear or see while with me, whether obviously work-related or not. The less you use or mention my name in public, the better. If we're out somewhere together, the more casual or distant our connection appears, the better. Being taken for nothing more than friendly acquaintances would be good. No onlooker should be given any obvious cause to think you're someone who's important to me, so no public displays." _Am I important?_ Molly bit her lip to hold in the words when Mycroft paused before going on. "The need to keep a low profile isn't uncommon for those who work in official circles, my dear."

"That level of lying low is common for someone who occupies 'a minor position in the British Government'?" Molly questioned drily, then snorted when he stood abruptly. "Mycroft … your brother has told me things over the years, you know, so I've had to assume you're with the British Secret Service - when you're not freelancing for the CIA, of course. According to Sherlock, you're the most dangerous man I've ever met." Her expression sobered as she stared at Mycroft. "I don't entirely disbelieve him," she said, "but _I'm_ not scared of you."

"That's good," he said, "but you shouldn't listen to my brother. Sherlock does love to be dramatic."

"So you don't work for –"

"I can't talk about my work, Molly," he said evenly, holding her gaze as he slid his hands into his trouser pockets. "If that's going to be an issue -"

"It's not," she insisted, interrupting him in return.

His expression hardened. "That's not to say there is _no_ shred of truth to Sherlock's assertions. There is significant risk that comes with associating with me – both in safety concerns for you and the possibility of someone using the threat of harming you against me." Mycroft moved closer and held a hand out, and Molly let him take hers. "I can and _will_ take steps to lessen any risk, Molly, but I can't remove it entirely."

"I understand, Mycroft, and I still want to be with you," she said. "I have no family, no one who depends on me other than Toby. I can accept the risk."

"The kind of relationship you want ups the stakes, Molly. I came here tonight with the assumption that if we continued to see each other, it would be much as before. Are you sure you don't need to consider the matter more carefully?"

"I'm sure," she said, deliberately holding his gaze so he could see her resolve.

"All right." Mycroft released her hand and pulled out his pocket watch. "I have to go for now," he said, thumbing the cover closed and tucking the watch into place, "but I'll get back with you in a few days." Within five minutes, he was gone, and Molly was left leaning against the door, still flushed from having been thoroughly kissed and somewhat dazed by how quickly her personal prospects had changed.

Once in the car, Mycroft reached for his mobile and leaned closer to the door, glancing up at Molly's window and speaking quietly as they pulled away from the curb. "I want an immediate upgrade to Miss Hooper's surveillance status." He listened for a moment, then, "Grade three, active."

 _#####_

 _~Wednesday Afternoon~_

Molly tensed at the sound of multiple pairs of footsteps nearing the morgue doors at a quick pace and looked up from the chart she'd been studying. Her expression relaxed into a smile when John Watson walked in, followed by Sherlock - a smile that widened unconsciously when Mycroft joined them. Her gaze lingered on him for a few moments before shifting to the others. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. What can I do for you?"

When the three of them left twenty minutes later, Molly latched the refrigerated drawer, tossed her gloves into a bin, and headed for her office. She smiled to herself as she mentally reviewed what must be considered a successful joint visit by the brothers since Sherlock had behaved himself on the whole. Three snorts, two scowls and a single curl of his upper lip – the last occurring when Mycroft and Molly had been careless enough for Sherlock to catch them looking at each other – hardly counted since they were so common as to be easily ignored by all … particularly by John, who'd remained oblivious to any undercurrents between the other three. Sherlock had obviously kept their secret or John would certainly have been giving Mycroft and Molly side glances at the very least. Molly pushed her office door open and froze on the threshold for a moment before quickly closing the door behind her. "What are you doing here? I thought you left."

Mycroft was leaning against her desk, hips perched on its edge, and simply lifted a brow as she came to stand in front of him. "I gave them the slip," he said lightly, although they both were aware that Sherlock must have known – and ignored - what Mycroft was doing.

Molly moved closer, then closer still when Mycroft spread his feet, and that was all it took for her to drop any plan to take things more slowly this time. Everything they'd done before had been by mutual choice, he'd said, and so it was now. She pressed herself flush against him and slid her hands around his waist, his arms encircled her back, and Mycroft slowly lowered his head to kiss her. Molly slipped one hand higher on his back and pressed her mouth more firmly to his, then eased off to run her tongue along the seam of his lips before slipping between them. She moaned when he sucked her tongue deeper and rubbed his along its length.

After a few moments, Mycroft pulled back and raised a hand to smooth some wisps of hair toward Molly's ponytail clip. "This was reason enough to stay behind," he said, "but I actually did have another purpose." Molly's brows lifted curiously. "You never showed me _Rear Window_ or _Vertigo_. Are you up for another movie night?"

"Of course," she said with a delighted smile. "Friday night? Saturday?"

"Most likely Saturday," he said, "but I'll call you if Friday's possible." His lips twisted and one brow arched. "As you know, a lot can change for me in a couple of days and I may have to work late both nights. If so, we'll get together the first evening we're free." His other brow rose. "Perhaps this time you should come to my home," he suggested, then smiled as he continued, "But I warn you – it's not as cozy as yours." Molly looked away without responding so didn't see his puzzled expression. "What is it, Molly … I thought you'd be pleased."

Her gaze hurriedly shifted back to his. "I _am_ – thank you, Mycroft," she said, then briefly brushed her lips over his. "But would it be all right to stick with _my_ kind of cozy for this weekend and see how things go from there?"

A crease appeared between Mycroft's brows, but smoothed after a few moments. "If that's what you want," he replied agreeably, then shifted to straighten up. "Well … I better let you get back to work." He bent to kiss her cheek, then turned aside to grab his umbrella from where he'd hung it on a chair. "I'll call you later in the week to confirm our plans." When Molly started to follow him into the corridor, he held up a hand. "You're busy. You don't need to show me out."

Molly watched from her door as Mycroft walked away from her down the long hallway and then waved when he glanced back before turning the corner. _Shit._

Over the next two days, Mycroft's reaction to Molly's brushing aside the invitation to his home worsened in her imagination from what had in reality been a brief frown. She didn't know why she'd panicked at the thought of – finally – seeing his home, but she had, and she still felt that way. She eventually concluded it was from fear that observing how Mycroft lived would change things. It was one thing to speculate about the wide gulf between their circumstances, but would be another thing entirely to have the situation confirmed.


	11. Culmination

_[Note: If you haven't seen Hitchcock's "Vertigo," be aware that this contains spoilers.]_

 _# # #_

 _Summary: Don't be alarmed … it's to do with sex._

#####

 _~Saturday Evening, Half Past Six~_

Molly Hooper shut the refrigerator door and hurried to the flat's entry when she heard Mycroft's usual three taps. She swung the door wide and pressed herself against him before he'd hardly stepped inside. Mycroft willingly participated in the kiss, but Molly pulled back when she realized he was holding his arms awkwardly to the side. "Sorry," she said, sounding anything but as she relieved him of a wine bottle and his umbrella - the latter of which she hung up for him - and then took the food carrier from his other hand. She left him removing his coat with a "make yourself at home" thrown over her shoulder.

Molly smiled when Mycroft eventually followed her into the kitchen, but then pointed her finger at him accusingly. "I just realized something, Mister Holmes …"

"Yes?" His brows lowered, but he didn't look too concerned.

"Did you deliberately avoid using your umbrella to tap on the door last Saturday? Did you change from your usual knock to surprise me?"

"No … maybe," he wavered at her skeptical look. "Perhaps I thought you might hesitate to open the door if you knew I was on the other side."

Molly's eyes held his for a few moments, then her lips curved. "Good enough." She ran her gaze down his body approvingly and her smile widened when she saw he'd already removed his shoes. "I'm happy to see you've dressed appropriately for movie night," she said, fingering the grey cashmere of his roll neck jumper. So soft to the touch … _mmm._ She was more surprised by the informality of his charcoal trousers. _Moleskin_ … another soft material that was pleasing to touch. Had Mycroft actually dressed with that in mind? The thought made Molly blush, and she quickly turned away to open the food carrier. "Let's see what you brought."

#####

"You've never suffered from acrophobia or vertigo, have you?"

Mycroft looked at Molly where she was standing with her hand poised over the DVD tray and rolled his eyes. "No."

She started to lower the disk into the player then looked back at him. "And you don't have any secret geopolitical issues pertaining to San Francisco?" He didn't bother to reply other than an exasperated snort. "Not that you could tell me if you did," she said, smirking as she started the film and went to join him.

Mycroft looked up as she stopped in front of the sofa. "Where do you want to sit?"

 _On your lap,_ she thought. "This is fine," she said instead and picked up her wine glass before settling on the sofa next to him and curling her legs to the side. Mycroft slid his arm off the back of the sofa where it had been resting and slipped it around her shoulders, drawing her closer. Molly gave a contented sigh, then took a sip of Sauvignon Blanc and leaned her head against the side of his chest. Mycroft echoed her sigh as he lifted his feet to the coffee table, stretched his legs and crossed his ankles, settling deeper into the cushion.

And all Molly could think about was how close her bedroom was.

#####

Fifteen minutes into the film and … "It's a plot to murder his wife."

"What?" Molly looked from Mycroft to the screen, where Gavin Elster had just convinced Scottie Ferguson to find out what was going on with his wife. "How did you – never mind. Do you want me to put on a different film?"

"No, this is fine," he said.

"But if you already –"

"We can enjoy the scenery."

Molly looked at the screen and the restaurant scene where the mostly bare back of the leading lady had just been lovingly framed as her introduction. "Kim Novak or San Francisco?"

"Who?"

"The icy blonde?" Molly turned to look at him suspiciously. "You knew that, you rat."

"Isn't it bad form to notice other women when I'm with you?"

"You're not dead, Mycroft," she said. "Besides, I think Jimmy Stewart is rather yummy."

"You obviously have a thing for older men," he said thoughtfully, then glanced down at her. "Present company included."

"I don't think of you as 'an older man'," she protested. "Do you think of me as 'a younger woman'?"

"No, you're Molly," he said. "I don't think of you in generalities."

Molly decided that was a compliment. "Thank you." Twenty minutes later, she dropped her feet to the floor and shifted to get up. "You stay here. I want to make some popcorn – _yes,"_ she admitted at his raised brows, "I'm still full from the tagliatelle, but popcorn is an important part of the whole movie night experience. It's a Pavlovian response - you don't eat popcorn because you're hungry, but from a lifetime of conditioning." Molly laughed at Mycroft's puzzled expression. "I don't mean _you_ you – just people in general." She braced her hand on the sofa back and bent to give him a quick kiss … which deepened and became more lingering when he curved a hand around her nape. _"Mmmm,"_ she murmured when he slowly pulled away. She opened her eyes and stared at him, then straightened abruptly. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Molly glanced at the back of his head after taking the package of popping corn from the pantry. Maybe she could tell him she didn't really care about finishing their movie night – that she was ready for _Mycroft_ Night to commence. _Patience,_ she told herself. Being with a Mycroft who was seemingly content just to hang out with her for a while was worth practicing a bit of delayed gratification.

Molly set the bottle of wine and bowl of popcorn on the coffee table after a while and had just resettled beside Mycroft when she looked at the screen and suppressed a groan. Two minutes later, she again rose to her feet. "Sorry, I'll be right back." Less than ten minutes after that, she quietly left the bathroom and walked bare-footed toward the sofa. Having to watch Scottie tell Madeleine "I'm here - I've got you" just before passionately kissing her while waves crashed against the rocky shore ... well, Hitchcock's damned symbolism had been the last straw.

 _Fuck_ patience.

And what perfect timing since Scottie was once again desperately kissing Madeleine, saying, "We're together … There's nothing you need to do … You're safe with me …."

Mycroft glanced up as Molly came around the end of the sofa and hurriedly dropped his feet to the floor when he saw her determined expression ... and the dressing gown that was already sliding off one shoulder and was obviously her only covering. Her eyes met his as she straddled his hips and slid her arms over his shoulders and cradled his head and sagged against him when their lips met … and then his tongue was in her mouth before quickly retreating and she moaned and sent hers chasing after him.

She ended their tongue play with a gasp, quickly untied the sash of her dressing gown to let it fall open, then slid her hands down his chest, undoing his buttons as she went, feeling his muscles tense as she moved lower and worked her fingers between them, then finally sat back when the button at his waist gave way. He was already erect beneath her, straining against the fly of his trousers, and she shifted on his lap to give his fingers room when he muttered, "Let me." He carefully lowered the zipper, then slid his hands under her dressing gown and cupped her bottom, inhaling sharply when she carefully adjusted his clothing to free him and grasped his cock with both hands.

Mycroft watched silently, his breathing deepening, as Molly took a condom from her pocket, tore it open and rolled it slowly and deliberately over his length. Their eyes met as she positioned the tip, notching it between her wet folds, then lowered herself onto him inch by inch … her breath catching at the smooth penetration, the delicious friction from her flesh adjusting, opening, stretching, making room for him … the aching pleasure of almost-too-much fullness sliding deeper and then deeper still until he was fully seated … and then Mycroft's breath caught as well when Molly's muscles clenched in a sudden spasm and that silky warm grip tightened more firmly around him. Mycroft slid his hands from her bottom to her shoulder blades and pressed her forward as he raised his head and drew her right nipple between his lips, first teasing it with the edge of his teeth, then licking it with the flat of his tongue while Molly watched and her breath quickened. When Molly deliberately tightened her internal muscles, Mycroft's eyes drifted closed and she felt his muscles quiver as he drew a deep breath. After a few moments, his lids lifted and he stared straight at her, then lowered his gaze to her left breast and leaned forward to lick that nipple before pulling away.

Mycroft tilted his head against the back of the sofa and continued to watch Molly from under half-closed lids. She bit her lip, blushing as his eyes held hers while she rose and fell, taking him all the way into her on each down stroke. She paused and shifted on her knees to change the angle, then continued to ride him at a steady pace … and color rose under the skin high on Mycroft's cheekbones. She lifted her hand to his jaw, brushing her fingers over his lips, and he caught her thumb between his teeth, biting down gently before sucking her thumb into his mouth and rubbing his tongue over the pad before releasing it. He curved his hand around her neck and brought her lips to his, licking teasingly into her mouth when her lips parted. His tongue firmed and Molly sucked on its tip before drawing him deeper, brushing her tongue alongside his, then retreating with a final press of her lips to his before she leaned back.

Molly's eyes closed as she focused on the feel of the smooth glide of his cock, sliding deep, and the rougher friction as she rose almost off of him. She lifted her lids to stare at Mycroft as she lowered onto him again and pressed her mound hard against his pubic bone, feeling the brushed nap of his moleskins against her bottom as she rotated her hips and then gasped at the resulting sensation. She circled her hips a second time and Mycroft grabbed her bottom, fingers pressing firmly as he held her in place and he ground upward against her, relaxed onto the sofa cushion, and then surged upward again. Molly grabbed the sofa back and lifted higher onto her knees, spreading her thighs wider, then gasped when he pulled her down as he thrust upward, then again, guiding and lifting her as he flexed his hips repeatedly. Molly blushed when their eyes met, highly conscious of the wet sucking sounds their bodies were making as Mycroft worked her over him, audible proof of her … _their_ … intense arousal. She finally closed her eyes, tilting her head so far back that her hair hung past her waist, and concentrated on her breathing and what was happening between her legs. She opened her eyes with a gasp when Mycroft slid one hand from her hip and over her belly, then rubbed a finger along her cleft, pressing its pad hard against her, rubbing, then pressing, and that new assault on her senses combined with the continued hard thrust and dragging retreat of his cock pushed her over the edge, leaving her breathless and panting, eyes squeezed closed, her body trembling and quaking as the orgasm spread shockwaves and heat from her core to each of her extremities.

Mycroft flexed his hips again and another quiver caused Molly's body to quake just as she opened to eyes to look at him. His eyes closed and the tendons in his neck tightened as he groaned roughly and his hips lifted off the cushion, jerking upward convulsively, once, twice and a third time before he sank onto the cushions, his body shuddering again then settling deeper into the sofa … and his lids partially lifted and his eyes met hers while his chest rapidly rose and fell. "That was … magnificent," he said, panting as he wrapped his arms around her and she collapsed bonelessly against his chest.

They stayed pressed together while their breathing slowed and a light layer of sweat dried on their bodies. Molly suddenly shivered at the feel of the room's air on her bare back and pushed herself off Mycroft and onto her feet, then put on her dressing gown while he removed and tied the condom. "Here – I'll take care of it," she said, then dropped it into her pocket and watched as he carefully tucked himself back into his trousers. A fresh wave of heat flooded her body, and she quickly pivoted and hurried toward the bedroom. "I'm going to have a quick shower," she said over her shoulder, then glanced back when she reached the threshold … and found Mycroft just a few steps from her. Another quiver ran through her when he followed her in and shut the door behind them.

#####

Mycroft tightened his grasp on Molly's hips to steady her when her foot slipped and her hand scrabbled for a hold and found nothing but shower curtain. "This would work much better in my shower. It has a grab bar and a glass door –"

"Stop criticizing my flat," she panted.

"That wasn't my intention," he said, groaning when she braced her hands against the tile wall and pushed back harder into his next thrust. "I was attempt –" His breath caught at the dragging slide of his retreat. "I was attempting to entice you to mine," he said, groaning again as he slid smoothly into the warm depths of her body. He bent down and pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades, and Molly felt the swipe of his tongue up the center of her spine.

Molly turned her head to look up at him questioningly, and his eyes held hers as one hand slid from her hip and down over her belly and between her thighs. "Oh, yes … _that,"_ she moaned, dropping her head and canting her hips higher to press more firmly against him. Mycroft worked his fingers farther between her thighs, and Molly squeaked when his next thrust caused her body to rub against the heel of his hand. "Oh god, do that again," she moaned, feeling the heat from her core spread through her belly and all the way to her cheeks, which tightened as the flush rose beneath her skin. She closed her eyes on another low moan and squirmed when he pressed the heel of his hand more firmly against her, massaging her flesh in a circling motion until she reached down to stop the movement of his hand. "Wait a minute," she panted.

"For what -" He broke off with a groan when Molly's fingers brushed against him.

"You're not ready –"

"Oh yes I am," he grunted, emphasizing each word with a sharp jerk of his hips. "Just. Let. Go." Mycroft felt his thigh muscles tremble and the ache in his groin increase and thrust even more forcefully. He took a firmer grip on Molly's hips and bent his knees to change the angle, then arched his head back and drove into her hard and deep, the sounds of their wet flesh slapping together and spray of the water hitting their skin finally being drowned out by Molly's cries as she came with a rush, gasping and shaking, her body tugging at his as her muscles squeezed and released, squeezed and released. He'd been hovering on the edge for some time and abruptly erupted with a choked-off shout, pressing inward as the orgasm ripped through him, holding himself deep within her.

Mycroft pumped a few more times, stroking more gently into Molly with each aftershock, bracing his arm against the tile over Molly's head, and finally felt himself slip out of her. His hands gripped her ribs, urging her to straighten, then he turned her to face him, sliding his hands down her back as he pulled her into a hard embrace. Molly gasped when Mycroft squeezed her bottom and lowered his head to kiss her. She shifted enough to reach past him without breaking the kiss and felt around until she located the tap and turned the water off.

Mycroft lifted his head at the sudden silence, then held onto Molly as she carefully stepped over the tub's rim. They separated to dry off and Mycroft eventually wrapped a towel around his waist and left Molly drying her hair while he went to the sitting room to straighten up after them – putting the DVD in its case, the wine in the refrigerator, the uneaten popcorn in the bin. He quickly washed the few dishes they'd used and left them to air dry as he returned to the bathroom. Molly's eyes met his in the vanity mirror as she worked the brush through her hair. He took it from her and gently smoothed the long lengths from the crown of her head to the blunt ends, then set the brush down and bent to kiss her bare shoulder. "Shall we go to bed?"

They removed their towels and walked naked to the bedroom, where Molly turned the bedcovers down and Mycroft moved around to the other side before stretching out on his back with a sigh. He glanced at her quizzically, then studied her expression more carefully when she stayed standing by the bed. After a few moments, he smiled slowly and lifted his arms toward her … and she swallowed thickly before crawling onto the bed and all the way on top of him, then relaxed and tucked her face against his throat with a sigh. Half past ten was early for either of them to go to bed for the night, he thought, but they could have a nap and be up again later. Mycroft felt a slight shift of the mattress and raised his head. A brief staring match ensued, and he considered shooing Toby off the bed, but mentally shrugged, pulled Molly closer, and left the cat to settle where he pleased.

The tension between Mycroft and Molly – whether they were together or apart - had built all week, and the sudden release of it … and in such an energy-sapping, though intensely pleasurable, manner … was sufficient for them both to slide into sleep before they knew it, and what was intended to be a short nap went on for more than five hours.

#####

Just before four a.m., Mycroft's hand slid up Molly's back and into her hair when he felt her stir. "I didn't bring a change of clothes," he murmured, cocking his head to look at her face in the soft glow of the bedside lamp they hadn't thought to turn off. "I'll need to go home and I think you should come with me." Molly listened to the low-voiced words with her right ear, felt their rumbling vibration through his chest with her left, briefly tensed at their meaning, but relaxed again as she slowly rubbed the sole of her foot along the outside of his calf. "I may not be familiar with the rules of an ongoing relationship," he said thoughtfully, "but at a minimum would expect both sides to be comfortable in the other's home."

Molly folded her arms on his chest and propped her chin on them. "I'm not avoiding your flat – I'm _not,"_ she repeated at his dubious look. "It's just that –"

Mycroft sighed when she didn't continue. "Think of it as visiting a theme park, Molly."

"A theme park? It's that _big?"_

"Oh for god's –" he broke off when he realized she was teasing. "Just consider it a place to experience adventures offered by such rides as The Shower of Carnal Delights and Mycroft's Magnificent Springing Mattress." He paused and rolled his eyes when she laughed at his whimsical notion, which he'd listened to with as much surprise as Molly. He'd have been appalled by his willing - and worryingly easy - descent into silliness if it hadn't seemed to be working. "My bed actually is quite firm. And tall," he noted as he ran his hand down her back and curved it under her bottom. "The thought is quite inspiring," he added gruffly as his fingers dipped between her legs.

Molly pushed herself up until she was straddling his stomach. "All right," she said, staring down at him, "you've convinced me. But be warned: My mother always had trouble getting me off a ride once I found one I really liked. For me, it was always make it go round again, again, again." She leaned lower, pressing her breasts against his chest as she whispered into his ear. _"Again."_


	12. Accommodation, Part I

**PART I: EXPLORING**

 **# # #**

 _Summary: Mycroft welcomes Molly into his home … and makes her feel very welcome indeed_

#####

Molly Hooper came out of her bedroom early Sunday morning, almost bouncing with nerves and excitement, and stopped abruptly when she saw Mycroft was pacing between the kitchen and sofa and back again, mobile held at his ear. Although he was wearing the casual clothes from the night before, he still retained an aura of easy elegance and radiated a powerful sense of command. He might as well be wearing one of his perfectly tailored three-piece suits rather than the cashmere jumper and moleskin trousers, she thought, glancing down at herself a bit ruefully. _She_ just looked casual – probably _too_ casual – in her pink cable-knit jumper, skinny jeans and trainers. When she looked up, Mycroft had come to a stop and was studying her, head tilted to the side, while he continued to listen and make the occasional low comment. His gaze ran down her body and seemed to become fixed on her feet. Molly looked at them as well - black and pink floral high tops with black laces, thick white soles and the familiar swooping logo – then her eyes met his, and he gave her a brief smile before turning to pace toward the kitchen again. What had _that_ been about, she wondered. Did he think her shoes looked silly?

# #

Mycroft momentarily lost his train of thought and paused in his conversation when Molly came into the sitting room looking so bright-eyed and eager, albeit with an underlying nervousness she was obviously trying to hide. He found himself unexpectedly charmed by her decidedly offbeat choice of footwear, although her characteristic youthful appearance did make him feel each of the eleven years separating them. It also made him fleetingly discomfited by the incipient stirring of arousal he experienced when Molly regarded him with such intentness, making no attempt to disguise the attraction she felt for him. He briefly smiled at her in acknowledgment, then turned away and forced himself to concentrate on the call.

# #

"Do you need to go to the office?"

"Later perhaps, but not now," Mycroft replied, then slid the phone into his trouser pocket and bent to kiss her, smiling wryly as he straightened. "You're not off the hook."

"I didn't mean –" Molly's indignant response was smothered by Mycroft's lips, and she returned his kiss enthusiastically as she lifted onto her toes and threw her arms around his neck. _"Mmm,_ stubble," she murmured, trailing her fingers over his jaw as he lifted his head.

Mycroft rubbed his cheek and frowned. "I'll shave at home," he said, then dropped his hand and raised his brows inquiringly. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes," she said, then arched a brow suggestively. "And that _wasn't_ a complaint."

#####

Molly's stomach muscles tensed when they drove past Marble Arch half an hour later and continued up Park Lane along the eastern edge of Hyde Park. She didn't know where they were going, but apparently her nerves were warranted if his home was located anywhere in the vicinity. They turned up Mount Street and hadn't gone far before they turned into a narrow lane and drove along a tall brick wall, finally coming to a stop in front of a glossy black carriage-style door, which rose smoothly in its tracks when Simon touched a button on the car's dashboard. Molly glanced at Mycroft and valiantly returned his smile as the car pulled into the garage and the door closed behind them. She could only hope he couldn't see the strain she felt from trying to ignore the butterflies banging against the walls of her stomach. _Butterflies?_ More like a bunch of _bats_ flapping their wings.

Mycroft pushed his door open and offered Molly a hand to help her slide over the seat and climb out of the car. Despite Simon's presence, Mycroft kept hold of her hand as they walked across the very clean, very organized garage to a glossy black, but otherwise plain, metal door. Molly looked away when Mycroft lifted his free hand toward the security panel and only turned back when the beeps stopped … and then flushed at Mycroft's amused expression. He opened the door and waited for her to proceed him, then took hold of her hand again as they walked a short way down a corridor past an opening to a utilitarian concrete stairwell and through another heavy door before stopping in a vestibule with an inset door to a lift on the left and a set of heavily paneled wood doors straight ahead. Molly eyed the unmarked double doors curiously. She also wondered where Simon had gone and glanced up at Mycroft without saying anything.

"My housekeeper lives there," he said as the lift door opened. "Mrs. Bell."

"You don't live in a flat then," she said drily.

"No." Mycroft urged Molly into the lift, then looked down at her with raised brows. "That's not really a surprise, is it?"

Molly just shrugged. "Will Mrs. Bell be upstairs?"

"She's likely visiting her daughter's family today," he said. "Mrs. Bell has most weekends off and we often don't see each other, but she makes herself available if something unusual is going on – such as my parents visiting."

Molly felt a renewed pang of embarrassment at the thought of his parents. "How often do they visit?"

"Not often – every few months or so," he said in a neutral tone, then added drily. "More frequently if I fail to make the trip to Surrey often enough to suit my mother."

"You parents live in Surrey?"

"Mmm, near Guildford."

Molly suddenly noticed how long they'd been on the lift. "Where are we going, Mycroft?"

The lift came to a stop at that moment and the lift door slid open ... onto another door. "I thought we'd start at the top and work our way down," he said as he opened the outer raised panel door that matched the others leading off the landing. The landing had a dark oak floor, closed doors in front of them and to the left, a short hall to the left with a closed set of double doors at the end - and, she found to her surprise, it opened onto a large spiral staircase on the left.

Molly leaned over the decorative wrought iron banister and gasped. _"Good god,_ Mycroft! How many floors are there?"

"The spiral staircase starts at the ground floor," he said, without answering directly. "Come this way." She said nothing more as she followed him _up_ the stairs, which ended in a relatively small rectangular landing that had another heavy metal door and a security panel. He typed in a code, then pushed the door open, and sunlight suddenly flooded the stairwell.

Molly gasped again as she brushed past Mycroft and out onto a roof terrace. "Oh my god! This is fantastic!" She turned in a circle, then hurried to the stucco wall that bordered the terrace. It was about a meter high with a decorative railing of twisted wrought iron above that. Scattered furniture was all covered by fitted tarps, but from their shapes appeared to be a dining table and chairs, some sort of bench, several chairs and side tables, and a couple of loungers. She walked the circuit around the edge, dodging large planters holding tall grasses that waved in the light breeze, then came to a stop in front of Mycroft, who'd been leaning against the outer wall of the stairwell, ankles crossed, hands in his trouser pockets, as he watched her explore. "It really is fantastic, Mycroft. Do you use it?"

"Not often," he said. "When my parents are visiting, we may have a meal or two up here, but it's not convenient for working – and even if it were, I find being outdoors a distraction." _And potentially dangerous if he wasn't paying attention._

"That's a shame," she said. "Getting some fresh air might be good for you."

Mycroft gave her a brief smile and straightened away from the wall. "Are you ready to continue the tour?" Molly looked around again, then nodded. "We can use the stairs for the trip down." When they reached the landing, he turned to the left. "This is the bedroom my parents normally use," he said, pushing the double doors open.

The bedroom was a large rectangle, with a high ceiling, a walk-in clothes closet and two windows that overlooked the back side of the townhouse. The carpet and drapes were pale blue, the thick duvet covering the king-sized bed was ivory, a Queen Anne style bench at the foot of the bed had a thick tufted cushion in a russet leather – similar to the color and style of the twin wing chairs in the sitting area. There were colorful throws on the chairs and a stack of books on each bedside cabinet and other signs of his parents' occasional occupation. The ensuite had a glass enclosed shower, separate tub, double-basins in a wide, furniture-style vanity, separate loo … and again some personal items arranged on the vanity and edge of the tub – toiletries and the like - that made Molly feel uncomfortable, as if she were invading the senior Holmeses' privacy.

They then moved to the other end of the corridor, where there were two more guest bedrooms – again with high ceilings and decorative ceiling cornices. One had a double bed with a small ensuite. The other was another large bedroom, with a king-sized bed, a dainty desk placed within a beautiful half-circle bow-front window, and double built-in clothes closets. Its ensuite wasn't overly large, but included a separate tub and shower, spacious single-basined vanity and enclosed loo. All three bedrooms were lovely and well-appointed, but Molly was relieved to feel their _comfort_ as well.

As Molly followed Mycroft down the stairs, she asked, "So yours is on the next floor down?"

"That's right," he said lightly, and Molly wondered at his tone when they arrived on the landing, which was again floored in a rich dark oak. Only two doors opened onto the landing – a single door directly across from the lift and a set of double doors just past the stairwell on the left. He turned left and looked at Molly over his shoulder as he pushed the doors open, then stepped backward into the room and bowed her in. "Welcome, my dear."

It quickly became apparent that Mycroft's bedroom wasn't _on_ the second floor … his suite _was_ the second floor.

They stopped just inside the room, and Molly didn't try to hide her curiosity. In contrast to the light-colored carpets and painted walls of the bedrooms on the floor above them, the dark wood flooring from the landing continued into Mycroft's bedroom, softened by several area rugs, and the walls she could see were covered in a vintage, two-toned beige, floral damask wallpaper. A dividing wall extended partway across the room from the entrance, but the half she could see had the same tall windows on the back wall as in his parents' room above. To the left of the door were neatly filled bookcases (not for Mycroft the overflowing mess of Molly's bookcases!) and a sitting area with a large Chesterfield, coffee table, two deep-buttoned club chairs, and lamp tables. The sofa had a dark blue throw tossed casually over one end and the soft leather upholstery actually showed signs of regular use. "Is this where you take your naps?"

Mycroft snorted, then returned Molly's smile with a rather sheepish one of his own. "I can't say that's never occurred," he said, walking over to the sofa and bending to fold the throw. "It's a comfortable sofa."

Molly walked further into the room until she could see the other half, and her gaze immediately became fixed on the large mahogany four-poster bed - king-sized and, as promised, _tall –_ set against a solid beige wall. The thick duvet was a narrow navy-on-navy stripe topped by several loose cushions piled haphazardly against the headboard … solids and patterns leaning mostly toward beige, ivory, burgundy and navy – colors that were repeated in other soft furnishings in the room.

Molly started when Mycroft rested his hands on her shoulders and propped his chin on the top of her head. "I told you it was tall."

"So you did," she said quickly and slipped out from under his hands and moved to look at the chest of drawers placed against the dividing wall. It was topped by an arched mirror in a decorative wood frame, but she was more interested in inspecting the contents of the valet tray resting on top of the chest beside an oval military hairbrush and fine tooth comb. She fingered his pocket watch and chain, a silver lighter, a set of gold cufflinks … and was momentarily overwhelmed by a feeling of intimacy at seeing such personal items left where Mycroft had undoubtedly removed them from his person. She dropped her hand as he came up behind her again.

Mycroft lifted his brows as their eyes met in the mirror. "What's caught your attention?"

Rather than answer that, she pointed at the wallpaper behind the mirror and the solid colored wall that was reflected in it. "Why the one beige wall?"

"I suppose to lessen the likelihood of having a busy wallpaper right next to clashing bed linens."

"That makes sense," she said, then turned around to face him. "What else is on this floor?"

Mycroft moved to a paneled pocket door and slid it open. Molly joined him at the threshold, peering curiously into the shadows beyond until he flipped on a light to reveal a dressing room – a long open recess with suits hung in a neat row and built-in shelving and drawers taking up the narrower right side, with the deeper left side having a tall cheval glass, padded bench, valet stand, and tall wardrobe with plenty of floor space for changing clothes. They were on the other side of the wall to the landing area, but the dressing room was much wider and she thought longer as well, and the pocket doors at either end maximized the usable space. She brushed her hand along the row of suits, stopping to finger a sleeve here and there, and then closed her eyes and quietly drew a deep breath. The room smelled marvelous, and she tried to identify the scents. Shoe leather and polish, yes. A touch of sandalwood. Freshly laundered shirts.

Mycroft cleared his throat and looked at her before opening the other door. "Keep in mind that I didn't design the bathroom, Molly. I've thought about renovations over the years, but never got around to it," he added as he swung the door wide.

"Good lord, Mycroft!" While the ensuite stretched the width of the townhouse, it wasn't as deep as the bedroom, but the floor space still boggled Molly's mind. Straight across from them was the same half-circle bow-front window as in the bedroom above, but this one had a cushioned window seat along its arc, which Molly was sure was entirely wasted on Mycroft since she couldn't imagine him ever using it. The large spider plant set on a claw-footed stand at its edge seemed to be thriving however.

In the middle of the wall to the left was a built-in dressing table with a smooth black marble surface and large, lighted rectangular mirror. A padded bench was pushed all the way under the table and Molly thought that fixture was also likely never used - unless by a guest - since a potted peace lily was the only thing on its surface. A paneled door just inside the bathroom to the left was, as Molly confirmed, to a loo.

The most surprising feature, though, was the oversized, circular, _whirlpool_ tub situated on its own in the center of the room. Molly looked up at Mycroft who'd remained quietly standing beside her as she studied the room. "Do you use the tub much?"

"I prefer showers, but I occasionally take a bath if I've been sitting too long and for too many days," he said. "It's almost as good as a massage for loosening tight muscles."

Past the tub, in the corners on either side of the room, were matching sink units, each with a single, central basin set in a black marble top. In the center of the far wall was an arched opening through which Molly could see a glass wall. Mycroft followed Molly as she walked to the far end of the bathroom and through the archway. A paneled door to the left was to a second loo. The rest of the space was a tiled shower enclosure with a front glass wall that went from floor to ceiling and had a glass door centered in it. Molly studied the built-in tiled bench at the back, large circular showerhead dropped down from the ceiling, angled showerheads on the side walls (one with an extra handheld unit), and several convenient grab bars. She felt warmth rise in her cheeks on recalling Mycroft's comment about the grab bar and cocked her head to study the control box on the wall just inside the door and the extra venting high on either side wall. "Is this a steam room?"

"Shower and steam room," he said, "and, yes, I do use the steam feature at least weekly."

Molly turned back to look at other details – heated towel racks on otherwise wasted wall space, the window between the tub and front sink unit, as well as more green things – a large ginger-jar planter containing bamboo stalks and a bowl-style planter with an aloe vera plant. They remained silent for a while, then Molly finally turned to look up at Mycroft. "This is the most _impractical_ bathroom I've ever seen. The way all the water fixtures are so spread out must have been a nightmare for the plumbers who built it," she said. "Who lived here before you?"

"That was a long time ago, Molly – almost fifteen years," he said. "What does it matter?" She just lifted her brows. "A rather well-known actor and his partner. Why?"

"This just doesn't look like _you_ at all, or what I think I know about you," she said.

Mycroft sighed. "No, and I did intend to refurbish it soon after I moved in – to take most of it to bare walls and start over - but with my work … well. Even if the bathroom is not to my taste, it does have everything I need – just a lot that I don't need as well."

Molly laughed. "I'm actually happy to know you're not always super-efficient at getting everything done. You can procrastinate like everyone else on low priority matters." She ignored his grimace and moved to the tub to study it more closely. "Despite how oddly positioned the tub is, it looks fantastic. I can do without the whirlpool, but I wish mine was this deep." Molly smiled at Mycroft over her shoulder, then led the way back to his bedroom.

As they passed through the dressing room, Mycroft briefly stopped to reach into the dark space under his suits before following her. "Would you like to give this a test run?"

Molly had been staring at the bed again and blushed as she turned around. "Uh, I, um," she faltered, then saw what he was carrying and laughed. "Certainly," she said and bent to untie her shoes while he placed the set of mahogany steps beside the bed. She kicked off her trainers, then ran lightly up the two steps to stand on the mattress, bouncing in place a couple of times – _"Mmm,_ magnificently springy, just like you said" - before dropping to sit cross-legged in the middle of the bed. "I'm not _that_ short," she went on, somewhat indignantly, "but the steps work fine."

"Yes, they do," he said, easily crawling over the end of the bed and wrestling Molly onto her back. "And got you just where I wanted you." She laughed and wriggled when he nuzzled her neck, but then her breath caught and her body stilled when he slid his hands through her hair, tilted her head back and met her eyes.

And just that quickly the light-hearted atmosphere in the room changed entirely.

Mycroft lowered his mouth to the base of Molly's throat and ran his lips up its length and over her chin before lifting his head to study her, those steely blue eyes gleaming beneath half-lowered lids. His eyes held hers as he shifted to cradle the sides of her neck in his palms, brushing his thumbs along her jawline until her eyes drifted closed and he lowered his head to kiss her. When Molly's lips parted, his tongue slipped between them, and she clutched at his back, pressing closer as she briefly sucked on his tongue, then swirled the tip of hers around his and slid deeper, deliberately thrusting once, twice, before slowly withdrawing. He tilted his head and then sent his tongue after hers, brushing along the edge of her teeth and tickling the roof of her mouth until she shivered.

Mycroft lifted his head and pushed up onto his knees, reaching for the button of her jeans. "May I?" Molly nodded and sucked her stomach in as he gripped her waistband and slowly lowered the zipper. When he met her eyes and arched a brow, Molly lifted her bottom and let him tug the jeans over her hips and down her legs, biting her lip when she realized he'd taken her knickers with them. He folded both garments carefully and set them on the far side of the bed, then turned back to her, pursing his lips while he looked at her socks. Molly felt her cheeks heat as she imagined how unsophisticated she must appear to him in her pink jumper and brighter pink knee socks - and what a stark contrast she must be providing to any memories he had of other more worldly women who'd been in his bed. The warmth spread from her face to her chest when his eyes moved up her body and met hers. "Nice socks," he observed soberly, but his lips curved when Molly wrinkled her nose at him.

Mycroft stretched out alongside her, propping himself on his elbow, and leaned over to give her a brief kiss. He lifted his head and stared at her for several moments while his eyes wandered over her face, then he kissed her again before shifting lower on the bed. He glanced up and gave her a reassuring smile. "Just relax, my dear." When her muscles immediately tightened, stomach clenching, thighs pressing together, he huffed a laugh. " _Molly ..."_

He waited until she presented some semblance of a relaxed state, then he slowly pushed the hem of her jumper higher and bent to kiss her midriff … her belly … and then he shifted lower and paused for a moment … before wrapping his hands around her thighs and lifting them up and outward, spreading her wide open before him, leaving her nothing to hide behind. Molly blushed and squirmed until he gripped her thighs more firmly to hold her still while he studied her … and she felt overwhelmed by the rush of blood to her core, leaving her feeling hot and swollen and pulsing … and suddenly desperate with desire for the weight of him on her, the pressure of him in her. Then he settled himself more comfortably between her thighs and lowered his head and licked her … working his tongue between her wet folds, laving her slowly, probing more deeply, nudging her with his nose … and Molly drew a sharp breath and slid the fingers of both hands through his hair to cup his head in her palms, to hold him against her … to hold on. The light stubble on his cheeks occasionally rubbed against the tender skin of her inner thighs and created another focal point of sensation. She tilted her head back hard against the pillow, moaning loudly as she arched her hips higher and pressed into the caress of his tongue, flushing hotter on hearing the moist sounds of him pleasuring her and her breathless entreaties that he _please_ … _oh please._ She felt engorged and aching … and groaned raggedly when he used his thumbs to open her further and ran his tongue in a firm caress up the cleft between her thighs and drew her between his lips, first sucking strongly then flicking her with his tongue at the same time that he curved his middle finger deeply into her and then a second one, thrusting and rubbing against her swollen flesh, circling and tapping … and the pressure built and built, the warmth blooming and spreading … and Molly clenched her muscles in sudden panic, fearful of losing control … then Mycroft was murmuring softly to her, calming her and encouraging her again to _relax_ and _let go_ … and he kept on and on until Molly cried out and came hard and fast and with a rush of moisture, her body convulsing, muscles quivering, warm waves of sensation spreading through her … then she gave another shuddering cry as a second orgasm rocked through her when he withdrew his fingers and dragged them up her cleft and rubbed their pads against her in a deep, circular motion. She moaned his name and turned her head aside, breathing heavily, eyes squeezed shut, suddenly embarrassed at the noises she'd made and the wet spot she could feel forming under her. And then Mycroft was there, braced over her, taking hold of her chin between thumb and forefinger - studying her face, she imagined from behind closed eyes - and then his lips claimed hers and she could taste herself on him and felt herself flush even as her mouth opened and he kissed her hungrily and she kissed him back breathlessly and wondered what the hell had got into him. If that was how he reacted just from being with her in his own bedroom … _good god._ Then she abandoned herself to the full intoxication of his kisses, encircled him with her arms and legs, and stopped thinking for a while ... until she finally slid her palm from his upper back to his chest, worked her fingers between them, then dragged them over his stomach and lower to mold her hand around his erection – a move that he acknowledged with a grunt and by pressing his cock more firmly into her palm.

And his mobile suddenly buzzed insistently on the bedside cabinet. _Oh fuck._

Mycroft raised himself onto his elbows, staring fixedly at Molly just as she realized she'd spoken aloud, then he blinked owlishly once, twice, and that quickly he was back to himself, pressing his lips together as he reached for the phone. He took a deep breath and shifted off of her to sit on the side of the bed, leaving Molly panting and staring at his back. He slowly released the breath and rose to his feet, phone at his ear as he walked toward the far windows.

#####

Molly studied Mycroft in the vanity's mirror as he held the warm flannel to his face and met her gaze over it. She broke eye contact and wrapped his dressing gown more closely around her before hitching herself onto the counter beside the basin. She watched intently as he applied shaving cream to his cheeks and throat with a brush, then picked up his razor. He paused and arched a brow at her. "You really want to watch me shave?"

"Hmm," Molly hummed, inhaling the soft scent of sandalwood.

Mycroft raised his left hand to pull his skin tight as he drew the razor down his cheek, frowning at his reflection in the mirror before shifting his eyes her way. "I'll likely be gone for several hours. Do you want Simon to take you home?"

"Do you mind if I stay?"

He swirled the razor in the water, then tapped it against the side of the basin before lifting the razor again and leaving another clean stripe in its wake. "Not at all," he said, then briskly but methodically finished removing all traces of stubble. He eventually ran his hand over his face to check for any missed patches.

"Let me see," Molly said, then ran her fingertips along his jaw when he bent toward her. _"Ooooh,_ smooth," she murmured as she slid her hand around the back of his neck. Mycroft gave in to her urging and bent lower. "You smell delicious," she whispered when their lips parted a few moments later.

"If you don't stop, my cold shower will have been in vain," he said gruffly. When Molly sat back, he bent over the basin, rinsed his face with cool water, then patted it dry before applying a shaving balm with … Molly picked it up to read the label … _aloe and tea tree oil._ "I need to get ready for work, my dear," he said mildly, "and your presence in the dressing room would not be helpful."

"Go on then," she said, waving her hand. "I'm not going to distract you." Her eyes did follow Mycroft as he walked barefooted across the bathroom and through the door, and she spent a few moments imagining him dropping the towel. She then hopped off the counter with a sigh and went through the archway to the loo.

A few minutes later, Molly slowly headed toward the dressing room, then paused. "Are you decent?"

"I'm _always_ decent," he called back in a muffled voice.

"Yeah, ha-ha," she said as she came through the door. Mycroft's head was lowered as he tied his shoes. "That was quick."

"It's a gift," he quipped as he rose to his feet from the bench. He unbuttoned his trousers to re-tuck the back of his shirt, then refastened them and shifted in front of the mirror to adjust the knot in his tie. Molly's eyes followed his hands as he clipped the watch chain to his waistcoat and tucked the pocket watch away, then shrugged into his jacket. "If you decide you want to leave, call Simon," he said. "I'll text you his number."

"I don't think I'll need it," she said, following him into the bedroom and watching as he smoothed his hair at the mirror over the chest of drawers. "I don't have any plans and Toby will be fine until this evening."

"There's plenty of fresh food and some good leftovers in the refrigerator and there's bread and I think half of a cake in the larder," he said, turning to her with a frown. "We didn't make it to the kitchen, but it's –"

"Mycroft, you need to leave. Just tell me where I'm _not_ supposed to go in the areas I haven't seen."

"You can look around all you want on the first and ground floors – the kitchen's on the ground floor, by the way. Mrs. Bell's flat in the basement is obviously off limits - although it's probably locked anyway – and I'd prefer that you not explore lower than the ground floor."

Molly knew the garage and the housekeeper's flat were on the basement level, and her eyes widened at the thought that there might be even more space somewhere. "Why - what else is down there?"

Mycroft huffed a laugh. "I'll show you later." He bent to give her a brief kiss. "If you're seeing me out, come on. I have to go." He suddenly noticed her bare feet. "Don't you need your shoes?"

Molly considered the visual impact of her flowered trainers peeking out from below the hem of his paisley robe swishing around her ankles and quickly shook her head. "Your floor is surprisingly warm."

"Radiant heating," he said, urging her out of the room with a hand against her back.

Molly leaned her head against his arm as the lift started down. "Is there really nowhere else you want me to keep out of? What about your office – or study?"

He glanced down at the crown of her head and had to suppress a sudden urge to laugh. "Do you intend to rifle through my desk drawers?"

Her head snapped back as she stared up at him. "Of course not!"

"Then feel free," he said lightly and waited for her to proceed him out the door as the lift drew to a stop at basement level. "One thing though … you can't leave the house without getting locked out."

"I'll be fine," she insisted, then lifted her face toward him. "Thank you for trusting me with your home," she added after he gave her a quick kiss. She didn't wait to watch Mycroft leave since she didn't want Simon to see her in a dressing gown, particularly one that kept slipping off her bare shoulders and was obviously not hers.

Molly got back into the lift, pressed the button for the ground floor, and rewrapped the dressing gown around her before tightening the belt. She suddenly let loose with a burst of delighted laughter at finding herself there and wearing _that_ … and with excitement from being left on her own to explore Mycroft's home to her heart's content.


	13. Accommodation, Part II

**PART II: GOING DEEPER**

 **# # #**

 _Summary: Mycroft begins to make room for Molly in his life_

#####

"Mr. Holmes?"

Molly Hooper dropped her roast beef sandwich, caught the wine bottle she'd almost knocked off the table, and jumped to her feet, hastily adjusting the dressing gown over her shoulders before tightening the belt. She was blushing, covering one bare foot with the other, and unconsciously twisting her hands in front of her when the compact, grey-haired, sixty-ish woman she could only assume was Mrs. Bell walked into the kitchen and came to an abrupt stop. Molly wasn't sure which one of them was more surprised. "Hello," she said tentatively, then quickly moved to the kitchen island to switch off the radio, which she suddenly realized might belong to the other woman ...

… who continued to gape at Molly in the ensuing silence, then visibly rallied and assumed a more neutral expression. "Good afternoon," she said formally. "I'm Mrs. Bell, Mr. Holmes' housekeeper."

"How do you do, Mrs. Bell," Molly said and bit her lip, fighting an ill-timed urge to giggle, then cleared her throat. "I'm Molly Hooper." When the housekeeper continued looking at her, Molly hurriedly added, "A friend of Mr. Holmes."

Mrs. Bell's eyes looked past Molly to the kitchen table. "I'm sorry for interrupting your lunch, Miss Hooper, but I heard the music and thought it was Mr. Holmes."

"If you thought it was Mycroft listening to Radio One, it's no wonder you decided to investigate," Molly blurted. "You probably thought he'd lost his mind!" Molly's grin faded when the housekeeper's gaze shifted back to her without a change of expression. _Don't tell jokes, Molly._

Mrs. Bell finally smiled. "It would certainly be unlike him," she said, then glanced around the kitchen. "Is there anything I can help you with before I go, Miss Hooper?"

"No, but thank you, Mrs. Bell," Molly said, feeling a bit awkward since the kitchen was really the other woman's domain. "Was there something you needed to do here? You don't have to leave on my behalf."

"Not at all," she said. "The sound of the music carried down the stairwell and I heard it when I came in from the garage." She gave Molly a pleasant smile. "If you have everything you need, I'll get back to my flat now."

"Do you want to see Mycroft when he comes in? Should I tell him –"

"Thank you, Miss Hooper, but that won't be necessary. I'll see Mr. Holmes in the morning." She nodded once, then turned and left the kitchen.

When Molly heard the stairwell door close, she went back to the table, dropped onto her chair and released a long breath. After a few moments, she glanced down and saw the belt had loosened again, exposing most of her upper chest but luckily not her breasts. _Great,_ she thought. _What a wonderful first impression._

She sighed when she looked at the remains of her sandwich and reached instead for the Cabernet Sauvignon. Ten minutes recovery time and a second glass of wine made her feel much better ... until she glanced at the clock.

Molly had already explored the ground floor – Mycroft's study, a small sitting room across from it, a cloakroom, the kitchen and eating area, and an anteroom with dumbwaiter and the continuation of the more utilitarian concrete staircase from the basement – as much as she wanted without Mycroft's presence. She headed for the spiral staircase and wasn't surprised when one floor up the stairs opened onto more glossy oak floors, richly painted walls and plush wool rugs in traditional floral patterns. A large, sunlit sitting room at the front of the house had two deeply cushioned sofas facing each other across a large mahogany coffee table alongside the fireplace. She could imagine how cozy it would appear with the fire blazing and didn't understand why Mycroft had implied that his home wasn't cozy in comparison with her flat. Perhaps he'd meant "cozy" size-wise, which was certainly true.

The other side of the sitting room had another furniture grouping with sofa, chairs and coffee table. A dining room at the back of the house was also sunlit from two large windows. The dining table had seating for twelve, and a large china cabinet and sideboard stored an impressive selection of china, cutlery, glassware and table linens. As in the kitchen, access to the dumbwaiter was through a small room to the side, which was also where the concrete stairwell ended. The connecting space between the front and back rooms – the landing area - was left open other than a floor to ceiling bookcase and large mahogany cupboard.

Twenty minutes later, Molly was soaking in Mycroft's tub … thinking about Mycroft and what she'd like to do to and with him in his very large, very comfortable looking bed.

Molly had always liked sex, or at least its _potential_ , despite the reality being a disappointment more often than not ever since that first fumbling effort – an experience that had been embarrassing from start to (very premature) finish. With Mycroft though, its potential had not only been realized time and time again, but its possibilities … her _fantasies_ … had most definitely expanded. Molly had learned more about the joys of sex in the past four and a half months, and the pleasure her body was capable of, than she'd learned in all the preceding years combined.

She'd had a week to entertain a relatively mild fantasy that had leapt to mind when he mentioned the height of his bed, and it had become even more vivid upon seeing the four-poster. To make fantasy reality simply required that she take charge with the hope that Mycroft would follow her lead. So far, he'd proven to be a willing participant during their sexual encounters – highly enthusiastic, in fact – and Molly had no cause to think this time would be any different.

#####

Mycroft Holmes was not a man given to introspection. He therefore didn't analyze his _feelings_ – the word alone could evoke a shudder - regarding the singular experience of knowing someone was waiting for him at home.

However, as Mycroft crossed the pavement and got into the waiting car, he smiled to himself at the thought of seeing Molly again so soon.

# #

When Mycroft arrived home at half past three, he took the lift to the first floor, checked the sitting room, then took the stairs to the second floor – two at a time was nothing for his long legs - and went through the open door of his bedroom and stopped a few feet from the sofa, studying Molly's sleeping form for a few moments before moving closer. She'd pulled his throw over her legs, but her upper chest and a nipple were exposed where his burgundy dressing gown had slipped off her shoulder. Since she'd switched from the paisley one, he assumed she'd had a bath and decided to read for a while since one of his mother's detective books had slipped between Molly's hip and the back of the sofa.

Mycroft cleared a spot on the coffee table, then hitched up the knees of his trousers before lowering himself to its edge. Molly's mouth had relaxed in sleep, leaving her lips slightly parted as she breathed softly and evenly. He bent toward her, intending to call her name, but at the last moment instead lightly touched his lips to hers _. To wake a sleeping beauty with a kiss … wasn't that the preferred method in fairy tales?_ Although Molly, with her occasionally macabre sense of humor, more likely preferred the original, darker versions of certain stories, he thought – the way they were before Disney got hold of them.

Molly's eyelids fluttered open as he sat back and smiled at her, and the thought occurred that he'd have to dispatch anyone else who saw him make such a mawkishly sentimental gesture. Mycroft Holmes was _not_ a romantic man.

"Hello," she said huskily, then cleared her throat.

"Hello, my dear," he said lightly. "I hope you haven't been bored."

"Not at all, but I'm happy that you're back," she said, then hid a yawn behind her hand. "Sorry."

"What have you been doing while I was gone?'

"Wandered around the other two floors, listened to music, made a sandwich, had a bath, read a while, fell asleep … typical Sunday laziness," she said. "Oh – I also hit the redial on the phone on your desk and had a short, but exciting, conversation with someone at the Kremlin who seemed to expect you to be on the other end of the line."

"Yes … very amusing," he said, with a twist of his lips.

"Well, I _did_ sit in your chair and prop my bare feet on your desk for a while," she said, "in case your security team finds any unusual prints on their next sweep."

"I'm glad you weren't bored," he said drily, then reached out and deliberately brushed the backs of his fingers over her right breast while adjusting his dressing gown to cover her. "You had a bit of a clothing malfunction there." The color had risen in Molly's cheeks, but she gamely met his amused gaze as he rose to his feet. "I should get changed," he said. "There's something I want to show you –" He broke off and glanced down at the hand she'd slipped between his knees, then met her eyes again as her hand started sliding up the inside of his thighs.

Molly shifted to drop her feet to the floor and stood, letting her hand trail over the front of his trousers, and suppressed her satisfaction when he exhibited definite signs of being interested. "Can whatever it is wait?"

"Why - what did you have in mind?"

 _Oh, yes,_ she thought. There was a definite gleam in Mycroft's eyes. "We'll need to go in there," she said vaguely, waving a hand toward the dressing room.

He simply stepped back in response to give her room to pass. "After you."

Molly led the way across the room, then stopped in front of the chest of drawers and turned to face him. "I just need to …," she murmured, sliding her hands up his chest and under his lapels to push his suit jacket off his shoulders. "Here - let me …" She took the jacket from him and headed to his dressing room, tossing a "wait there" over her shoulder. Once she'd carefully arranged the jacket on his clothes valet, she took a deep breath and slowly released it, then pivoted and returned to the bedroom where her gaze fleetingly met his before dropping to his waistcoat. She very deliberately unclipped the watch chain, removed his pocket watch and placed them in the valet tray before raising her eyes to meet his in the mirror.

Molly's color rose as they stared at each other in silence. She finally turned away to walk to the bed and spoke without looking at him. "You mentioned how tall your bed is and I thought maybe you wanted …" She hesitated a moment, biting her lip, then turned back to look at Mycroft, who hadn't moved from where she'd told him to stand. _Keep going, Molly._ "I thought you might like to take advantage of it." She undid the belt of the dressing gown, then shrugged her shoulders and let it slide down her arms to the floor. She held his gaze until the last moment as she bent over the side of the bed to lie on her stomach, arms spread overhead, face turned away from him. She felt her blush spread from her face downward while she waited for his reaction and imagined how she looked offering herself to him like that. Her bottom probably looked as wide as -

And then Mycroft's clothes brushed against her calves, her inner thighs, her bottom, his hand pressed flat against the mattress near her face, and she held her breath so that all she could hear was the sound of _his._ Molly finally felt him exhale against her nape and she trembled when he kissed her shoulder, then he was kissing her spine, tracing its line down her body until he pressed soft kisses on the dimples below her waist … and then he seemed to pull away from her.

Molly tensed in the sudden stillness, wondering what Mycroft would do next ... and then he'd dropped to his knees and his hands were between her thighs, gently urging them apart as he placed a kiss on one smooth buttock and then the other, and he was lifting her, hands spreading her, canting her hips higher, and she trembled again, gasping when she felt the nudge of his nose, the touch of his tongue working its way between her wet folds, probing deeper. Molly moaned, pressing her flushed cheek harder against the silky bed covering and her even hotter core more firmly against his face, and she thought with wonder that he'd already shattered her fantasy by taking it beyond what she'd imagined … and then she stopped thinking and focused solely on the feel of his mouth on her, his tongue in her, the pads of his fingers pressing against her flesh where he held her in place, until he lowered her hips, letting her body rest fully against the bed, and she felt his clothes brush against her as he rose to his feet.

They still said nothing and the silence between them became more tense, and then Molly heard the faint sound of Mycroft's zipper and a quiver ran through her, and she was waiting … waiting … and then his hands were on her again, carefully positioning her. Molly roughly groaned his name as his fingers gently separated her folds and were replaced by that first careful prod, that exquisite ache of her flesh stretching to accommodate him … and his cock was sliding smoothly into her and then deeper still until his pelvis was pressed firmly against the curve of her bottom. Her flesh was so sensitive she could feel the fine wool of his trousers and a tiny, momentary pinch as the rough-edged coolness of his zipper was caught between them.

Mycroft held himself within her for a moment, two, then Molly heard him draw a shuddery breath and the weight against her lessened and she felt the gliding drag as his hot length withdrew, and the sudden coolness of the room's air slipped between them and made Molly shiver. A moment of suspense, then Mycroft thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt, and then the gliding retreat again, and once more slowly, and he finally broke the silence with a gruff inquiry - "All right?" - and she sighed in agreement, _"Yeesssss"_ … and just as she opened her mouth to urge him on faster, he gripped her hips more firmly and drove his cock into her, and then again, and a loud, long moan broke from Molly at the blissful friction, the force of the push inward, the drag of the slower withdrawal, over and over, and she felt the pressure building and building … and then Mycroft abruptly pulled out of her and his hands were gone and the cool air again washed over her bare skin as she cried out in protest …

… but then he was there, leaning over her, slipping his hands under her, gently turning her onto her back, shifting her farther onto the bed, lifting her knees up and outward until the soles of her feet were against the mattress … and then she was staring into his eyes, so close as he leaned over her, both of them panting and trying to catch their breath, and Mycroft clamped his lips against Molly's for a moment, two … her lips so soft and yielding. He pulled away with a gasp - had it been his? hers? - and his eyes moved down her body, pausing at her breasts before moving lower. A wave of heat flooded her body and she flushed almost painfully at the sight of him looming over her, standing there between her trembling thighs … his white shirt still crisp, the knot of his blue silk tie still pressed tidily against the base of his throat, his chest rapidly rising and falling beneath the light grey waistcoat that was still neatly buttoned.

Molly lifted her head and quickly dropped it again, aroused beyond measure at the sight of his disarranged trousers, sagging open at the waist, the fly loosely bunched beneath the hard jut of his cock, its tip glistening with moisture, and she couldn't stand to wait any longer. " _Please,_ Mycroft – _now,"_ she ground out, holding his eyes as she slid her hands over her ribs and cupped her breasts, lifting them and pressing her palms hard against them, and his eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened and his nostrils flared as he drew a sudden breath. He quickly gripped her hips and shifted her bottom closer to the edge of the bed, then ran his thumb up her cleft and pressed against her as his fingers carefully separated her folds and his free hand positioned the tip of his cock just within her. He rested there for a moment, his breathing quick and shallow, then his hands slid around her knees and lifted her feet over his forearms as he leaned over her, bracing his hands against the bed, and the backs of her knees came to rest in the crook of his elbows. He bent lower to kiss her, swallowing her moan as he smoothly penetrated her slick, swollen flesh until he could go no further. His pelvis ground against hers and he shifted in place against her, slowly rubbing and circling, rubbing and circling, and then he straightened, letting her knees slide down his arms until he grasped them in his hands. Her eyes briefly met his, then dropped to his hands, and lower still … and she flushed and closed her eyes and turned her head aside.

"Molly," he said, then repeated it more insistently. _"Molly_ … look at me." And her head slowly turned and she looked straight at him, lips parted as her breathing deepened. Something seemed to leap in Mycroft's chest, and he held her eyes as he drove into her more roughly than he intended, and Molly's head tilted back harder against the bed as her lips parted on a long, low moan, but her eyes continued to hold his and Mycroft stared back unwaveringly, hips flexing and releasing as he continued thrusting hard and fast and deep, sweat beading on his brow. Then Molly suddenly cried out, "I _can't –"_ … and Mycroft broke rhythm and slammed into her, lowering her left foot to the bed before dropping his hand to her cleft, rubbing the taut skin where she stretched around him, dragging his thumb against her, pressing and circling, pressing and circling, then pinching her flesh between his thumb and forefinger, tugging and rolling, as he surged into her and retreated, in and out, surge and retreat. Molly's hands slid off her breasts to clutch at the bedcovers, twisting the duvet between her fingers, holding on as Mycroft drove into her ... and then she came apart with a gasping sob, feeling tears of release slipping down her temples, her core contracting, pulsing, as waves of pleasure flowed through her, leaving her muscles trembling, her breasts heaving, her harsh breaths sounding loud in her ears. Her body bore down, clenching around him, and his cock seemed to swell further as he continued to slide back and forth, thrusting and withdrawing, dragging his hard flesh through the hot, wet, pulsating grip of her body. And Mycroft stiffened, flinging his head back with a shout of pleasure, then he groaned roughly, hips jerking as he erupted, his cock pulsing within her … and Molly felt the spreading warmth of his release as he came deep inside of her.

# #

Mycroft carefully lowered himself onto Molly, knowing how much she liked to feel him pressing her into the mattress, but kept most of his weight on his hands despite the almost overwhelming tiredness he felt. She shifted her hips and slid her feet along his sides until she hooked her ankles over his calves. Her hands gripped the sides of his trousers, then smoothed over the back of his waistcoat and flattened against his shoulder blades. "Relax, Mycroft," she breathed, urging him down onto her. "I want to feel your full weight on me." A quiver ran through his muscles, then he let himself collapse the rest of the way onto her and pressed his face into the crook of her neck, murmuring his appreciation against her throat.

Molly drew a deep breath and slowly released it, relishing the slide of her nipples against his waistcoat, the firm press of his body along her torso, the smooth texture of his trousers under the soles of her feet, the heat of his breath on her neck, the throb of his heartbeat keeping time with hers.

Molly felt overwhelmed by Mycroft and was more than satisfied … she was _elated._

#####

They were finally ready to move again, and Mycroft made a quick trip to the bathroom, returning with warm flannels for Molly – one wet, one dry - before going to his dressing room to remove the rest of his clothes. She sat up when he came back into the bedroom, bracing herself on a straightened arm and curling her legs to the side. She watched as he crossed to the bed, stretched out beside her, and looked at her with raised brows as he folded an arm under his head. "What?"

Molly shook her head silently and shifted closer, sitting on her calves as she placed her palms on his belly. He murmured her name disapprovingly, then sighed wearily, and her lips curved in amusement and she shook her head again, chidingly. _"Shhh_ … I just want to –" She broke off as she smoothed her palms up his chest, running her fingers through his chest hair, separating a few curls, catching hairs between her fingers and tugging teasingly before her hands moved further up his chest and her palms curved around the base of his neck, then slid to his shoulders, cupping them and rubbing her thumbs over his clavicles and sliding lower to brush her fingers over his nipples. She finally bent over him and pressed a kiss to the center of his chest, then raised her head and met his eyes before giving him a slow smile. "As wonderful as all of that was," she said, tilting her head toward the side of the bed, "I missed touching your skin."

When he returned her smile, she sighed contentedly and stretched out on her side, drawing her knees toward her chest and arching her back as he rolled over to fit himself to her curves and slid his arm around her waist. "Nap?"

 _"_ _Mmm,"_ she agreed lazily, shivering as he slowly brushed the tips of his fingers along her forearm. He nudged her hair aside with his chin and kissed the back of her neck before resting his head on his pillow.

"Mycroft …"

"Hmm?"

"I met Mrs. Bell today."

His fingers paused for a moment, then continued stroking her arm. "Yes?"

Molly turned her head to speak over her shoulder. "She heard the radio playing in the kitchen when she got home and came up to investigate." She huffed a laugh. "I was listening to Radio One – rather loudly, I admit – and I'm sure she thought you'd snapped and gone completely bonkers."

"Or she guessed that I had a guest."

"Really? You think she knew it wasn't you?"

Mycroft snorted. "I can assure you she's never heard me playing Radio One."

"So Mrs. Bell is a bit, uh, curious?"

"Nosy would be more accurate, but it's usually come in handy when she's noticed something unusual in the vicinity," he said.

Molly covered the back of his hand with hers. "I was still wearing your dressing gown," she said quietly.

"And?"

"Will she tell people?"

"No, she may share information about other people with me, but she knows being discreet about anything to do with me is a crucial part of her job," he said. "As far as I know she's remained so during almost ten years here." He paused for a moment, then added, "And I would know otherwise."

There was something in his voice that made Molly shiver. She let go of his hand and shifted to nestle her head more comfortably against the pillow … then shivered again when Mycroft's fingertips brushed against her arm. They lay quietly for a while, drifting toward sleep, and he continued to brush his fingers over her arm from time to time – likely unconsciously, she thought drowsily.

Mycroft suddenly tensed and flattened his hand against her stomach. "No, not a nap." He pulled his arm free, then sat up and shifted to the side of the bed. Molly twisted to look at him just as he glanced over his shoulder. "I want to show you something."

"What?" Molly didn't want to go anywhere.

"Come on, my dear," he coaxed. "You'll be glad that I got you up."

She tried not to whine. "Do I have to get dressed?"

"Yes," he said, then arched a brow. "Mrs. Bell?"

#####

Molly had made herself act cheerful as she dressed in her jumper and jeans and sat to tie her shoes before following Mycroft – in jeans, no less - to the lift. Her enthusiasm became real, however, when he pressed the button below the one to the basement. _SB._ There was a _sub-_ basement?

#####

Mycroft pulled the heavy wood and glass door open, then stepped back for Molly to enter first. As the door closed behind them and the sound of the loud thud bounced off the tiled walls, Molly stayed frozen in place, staring in amazement … and quickly realized she had a choice – to be intimidated or to be excited by the surprise. After a few moments, she chose the latter.

 _"_ _Wow,_ Mycroft … this is incredible!" She hurried forward and dropped to her knees. "Is it –" she glanced over her shoulder while stretching her hand low. "Oh _god_ – the temperature's _perfect!"_ Mycroft came to stand over Molly as she shook the water off her hand then wiped it against her jeans. "And you said you _sometimes_ swim," she said wonderingly, studying the glass mosaic tiles of the pool's walls and floor in varying shades of pale and dark blues. The mixed colors seemed to sparkle under the LED lighting and combined with the sand-colored hue of the decking's anti-slip tiles and the surround's smoother versions brought to mind a tropical beach. Molly looked up with a delighted smile. "I don't know how you stay away. I'd be in here every day."

"You think that now, but …" He shook his head.

Molly stood up and walked toward the far end of the long, relatively narrow room, truly amazed that the recessed lights in the pool and the cedar plank ceiling and those mounted on the walls created a warm, inviting environment and not the harsh, sterile one she'd have expected with the lack of any natural lighting. The pool was obviously intended for serious lap swimming, being about twenty meters in length, but only about four meters wide. The pool room's only accessories were the conventional, three-tread stainless steel ladders at either end of the pool and scattered chairs, which looked like wicker at first glance, but were actually made of a synthetic material. "I know the pump has to run, but what are the other noises?"

"Air handling units," he said. "The real challenge with an indoor pool, especially a subterranean one, is keeping the room properly ventilated and dehumidified. For example, that heat retention cover," he said, pointing, "helps to minimize evaporation."

"Not very glamorous," she said, looking around the room again and this time paying attention to all the vents she'd ignored.

"And we haven't talked about vapor barriers," he said wryly.

Molly smiled. "I get your point. Owning a swimming pool is more of a headache than I thought."

"Only when the monthly service bill comes in." Mycroft slid his hands into his pockets and strolled along the pool to meet her. "Would you like to have a swim now?"

"I don't have a suit," she said, frowning at him under her brows.

"Do you need one?" Mycroft asked, holding her eyes, then slowly smiled when Molly blushed. "Come with me," he said, offering her his hand.

"Where?"

"Just here," he said, lifting his chin at a door set farther along the wall from the entrance and which she'd passed without notice when they came in. He opened it and flipped on the overhead light, revealing a dressing room with two draped cubicles and plain benches set along two walls with a wide, locker-style cabinet in the corner between them. He opened another door to a sink, toilet and shower, then picked up a carrier bag from one of the benches and handed it to her. "See if that works."

Molly ran her fingers over the familiar logo, then opened the bag and pulled out a one-piece, coral swimming costume. A quick check of the label confirmed it was her size. Not only that, it was the simple tank style she preferred, but had a bit of shirring on the sides to soften the lines. _Mycroft saw far too much,_ she thought. "Thank you," she said, looking up at him. "What about you?"

"My suit's there," he said, pointing to the cabinet.

"So, um," she said, then was embarrassed when her cheeks flushed, knowing it was absurd to feel shy when he'd seen her naked just a little while before. Mycroft stepped aside without comment and she brushed past him and hurried into a changing cubicle and pulled the curtain closed.

The swimsuit fitted perfectly, of course. _It wouldn't dare do otherwise,_ she thought, smiling at herself in the mirror, then her brows knitted when she considered all the bare skin she was showing. She made herself leave the cubicle and pushed through the outer door, then stopped in her tracks when she saw Mycroft standing just outside, wearing a pair of plain, navy swim shorts and holding two towels. Staring at his bare back and legs, she wondered why they both seemed to be more naked wearing swimsuits than when they were actually nude. He turned to look at her and she felt her nipples tighten when he ran his eyes down her body and back up again.

"It fits then," he said, smiling as he held a towel out to her.

"Perfectly," she agreed. "You have a good eye."

"What about your hair? There was a swimming cap in the bag."

Molly had delayed donning the silicone cap in a sudden burst of vanity. "I have it here," she said. "You thought of everything." Mycroft gestured toward the pool and she trailed behind him as he tossed his towel over a nearby chair before lowering himself to the edge and dropping into the pool. The water hit him almost mid-chest so had to be more than four feet deep. Molly tossed her towel after Mycroft's, then quickly braided her hair and pulled the cap over her head, tucking in loose strands as she walked to the pool, smiled at him … and suddenly jumped in with a loud _"whoop!"_

Mycroft rolled his eyes when she surfaced next to him and wiped the water off her face. "Remind me, Molly – how old are you?"

"You're only young once, but you can stay immature indefinitely," Molly quoted soberly. "Race you!" She pushed off the side with her toes and crawled down the pool as quickly as she could, then grabbed the pool's edge and turned back to look for Mycroft … who was standing beside her, not even breathing heavily. "Damn it, Mycroft! Your height and long arms give you an unfair advantage."

"Racing wasn't my idea," he said, deadpan, before turning to lean against the edge of the pool and regarding its long length. "What's your favorite swimming stroke?"

"Backstroke."

"Go on then."

Molly eyed him suspiciously, then pushed away from the side and started down the pool. Mycroft swam alongside her, adapting his stroke to her slower one. Molly stopped at the other end and brushed the water off her face. "You don't have to wait for me," she said. "You go your pace, and I'll go mine."

Mycroft studied her expression for a moment, then nodded when she smiled. "All right."

Molly took off again, enjoying the stretch of her limbs as she focused on reaching into each stroke and pulling herself through the water as efficiently as possible. She turned her head from time to time to watch Mycroft as he moved steadily up and down the pool, never seeming to waver in his deliberate pace. He was swimming about three lengths for every two of hers, but there were times when they were swimming alongside each other. She didn't know how long they'd been in the pool when he finally stopped and waited for her.

"Have you had enough?"

"Could we just float around for a while?" Molly frowned when Mycroft lifted his brows. "Don't you ever lie on your back and let your body drift wherever the water takes you?" When his brow creased, Molly grabbed his hand. "Come on."

They'd been floating quietly for some time, still holding hands, when Mycroft broke their companionable silence. "I've been considering what you said last week about our relationship," he said idly.

"You _have?"_

" _Mmm_ … and two thoughts occurred. First," he said, "there's an upcoming event where having someone with me could be advantageous."

Molly spluttered a bit after water rushed into her open mouth, then pushed her feet toward the pool bottom and struggled to a stand. She wasn't sure what he meant by "advantageous" but focused on the primary issue. "Are you asking me on an actual _date?"_

Mycroft stood as well, lips pursed as he studied her expression. "To attend a work-related event with me," he clarified after a few moments. "But if you'd like to think of it as a date, so be it."

"I'd be your plus-one?"

He grimaced at the term. "My guest, yes."

"What's –" Molly shifted closer and suddenly lifted her hands out of the water to grab hold of his upper arms when her foot slipped. Once she regained her balance, she continued gamely. "What's the event?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Come here, little one _,_ before you drown," he said, taking hold of her waist and lifting her higher out of the water. When Molly wrapped her arms and legs around him, he waded to the side of the pool and sat her on its edge. "A dinner at the American Embassy."

"I think I'd like that." Molly ignored a sudden flutter of nerves and lifted a hand to brush some water drops off his forehead. "What's the potential advantage for you if I were there?"

"Certain parties would be so discombobulated by my being accompanied for once that they may drop their guard," he said.

 _"_ _What?"_

"It's an American term for being so confused you don't know which way is up," he said drily.

Molly snorted. "I've heard of the word, Mycroft … I was just shocked to hear _you_ use it." She wrinkled her nose at him, then leaned forward and rested her forearms on his shoulders. "So, what was your _second_ thought?"

Mycroft braced his hands against the pool's edge on either side of her hips and raised his brows. "After what Sherlock did, I believe you and my parents should have a chance to meet each other properly."

And just that quickly Molly's butterflies were back, wings fluttering frantically. _Oh god … not his parents._


	14. Debut, Part I: Oscillation

**DEBUT,** **Part I: Oscillation**

 _Summary: Mycroft suffers twinges of guilt and momentary doubt and yet he and Molly still_

 _manage to move forward ..._

#####

Mycroft Holmes strode across the pavement and into the building with a nod at the security officer who was holding the door open for him and headed to his office at a brisk pace, occasionally acknowledging other staff with a lifted chin or quick word, but no one attempted to delay him and certain others changed course to avoid him.

Anthea rose to her feet as Mycroft entered the office. His gaze briefly shifted in her direction as he returned her greeting without pausing … and then, just as Anthea had started to relax, he stopped and turned to her. "Did you have a pleasant weekend?"

Her eyes widened. "Yes, sir. And you?" She suppressed a wince at her automatic echoing of the polite inquiry.

"I did, thank you," he said, then went through his door and shut it quietly behind him.

Anthea dropped into her chair, still staring at the closed door … surprised that he'd responded at all and thoroughly shocked by his response.

# #

Ten minutes later, Anthea entered Mycroft's office following a soft rap on the door and set a cup of tea by his right hand before taking a seat across from him. Mycroft thanked her in an absent-minded tone without looking up from the file he was reading, and Anthea took the opportunity to study her boss from under her brows, trying to figure out what was different about him. When he shifted position, she quickly dropped her gaze so that when he glanced up, her eyes were fixed on her mobile as she dealt with her emails.

Mycroft stared at her for a moment, then his attention returned to the file. When he finally placed it on the desk, Anthea handed him a folder that had been received from the Home Secretary half an hour before. Five minutes later, Mycroft set that aside as well, then leaned back in his chair and looked at his PA. "You can inform the Home Office that I'll be bringing a guest to the dinner with the Americans on Friday."

Anthea kept her expression neutral with a great deal of effort. "Do I need to run a background check –"

"We already have a file on her … Doctor Molly Hooper," he said evenly as his gaze met hers. "Send the Ambassador's representative an extract."

"Are you …," her voice trailed off and she cleared her throat at the upward flick of elegant brows over steely blue eyes. She rose to her feet and gave him a brief smile as she turned to leave. "That will certainly be advantageous, sir."

"Sorry?"

Anthea immediately regretted offering an unsolicited opinion, even more so when she turned back and met Mycroft's narrow-eyed stare. "Having someone accompany you will likely distract Jones and his goons, sir. They'll probably spend more time wondering who Dr. Hooper really is and why you brought her than wondering what you're doing there." Mycroft continued to stare, but Anthea had the impression he was no longer seeing her … and then he blinked and abruptly turned toward his laptop without commenting. She reached to open the door and –

"Anthea."

"Sir?"

"I'll be attending the dinner alone."

A pause, then a hasty, "Yes, sir."

When the door closed behind her, Mycroft sat back and brought his steepled fingers to his chin. _Advantageous._ His lids dropped over his eyes with the return of that momentary twinge of guilt and self-condemnation he'd experienced on hearing his assistant voice what had been his own opinion – and one he'd freely expressed to Molly when mentioning the Embassy event. Yet she'd still been transparently happy at the thought of having an evening out with him. A _date_ … when he would have been using the occasion for his own strategic purposes, just another tactical move in his game plan. He'd cautioned Molly only a week before about the dangers of associating with him publicly, but hadn't warned her that the greatest risk to her safety might originate with _him_ and the ease with which he used others as pawns.

# #

Anthea's musings were interrupted when the phone rang and she finally stepped away from Mycroft's door, shaking her head as she walked back to her desk. _Molly Hooper?_

#####

Mycroft arrived at Molly's early Monday evening and heard the loud music coming from the flat before he reached her door. He used the key she'd returned to him and quietly let himself in, intending to surprise her, but instead froze in place at seeing the familiar Belstaff hanging beside Molly's puffy pink jacket … and the conversation he unintentionally and most unwillingly overheard left him momentarily numb.

"Does my brother know," Sherlock grunted, "what you've been doing?"

"This doesn't concern Mycroft," Molly puffed dismissively. "This is between you and me."

Mycroft's knuckles turned white when he gripped his umbrella more tightly.

"And he thinks you're so nice –

"Not _that_ nice," she grunted.

Mycroft had turned to go just as a heavy thud shook the flat, Molly gasped, and his brother scoffed derisively.

"You literally can't hold up your end of the deal, Molly."

"Oh shut up, Sherlock."

Mycroft closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then hung the umbrella on a hook and removed his coat before walking around the corner and into the sitting room.

"Bend your knees and use your legs, not your back." Sherlock was still holding one end of the sofa, and Molly – obviously having dropped the other end - was glaring at him, arms akimbo, fists on her hips.

Molly saw movement at the corner of her eye and turned with a scowl, but her expression immediately softened into a welcoming smile when her eyes met her unexpected visitor's. _"Mycroft!"_ She hurried toward him, totally ignoring Sherlock's disgusted snort. "I didn't know you were coming over tonight."

Mycroft returned her smile and swiftly caught hold of her hands, lightly squeezing them as he subtly held her away, avoiding the kiss she'd obviously been about to plant on him. "What's going on?" he asked mildly, both out of curiosity and to distract her.

"Sherlock's helping me rearrange my furniture," she said, glancing over her shoulder. "Isn't that nice of him?"

When Molly moved away to switch off the music, Mycroft turned toward Sherlock, who was obviously keeping his temper in check by a thread, so he helped to snap it. "Ah yes, little brother is known for his good works."

 _"_ _Revenge!_ That's what it is, and not just today," Sherlock protested sharply. "Do you know what your girlfriend's been putting me through over the past six weeks?"

"I'm not his girlfr –"

"Do tell, brother mine," Mycroft interrupted smoothly. "What's Molly been doing to you?"

"She made me reorganize the lab storeroom –"

"You use the lab often enough so you should help keep it clean – "

"Catalog the specimens -"

"You enjoyed that! And got a foot out of it –"

"Find lost pets –"

"You had fun returning Alfie and becoming Bobby's hero –"

"Vet her friend's romantic interests …" Sherlock paused, waiting for Molly's interjection. "No comeback there, huh? Your friend is an idiot, Molly. How else could she have missed all the classic signs." He turned to Mycroft, looking totally aggrieved. "Molly's friend hit me when I informed her of the boyfriend's wife -"

"Susan slapped your arm and not even that hard," Molly scoffed. "You were incredibly rude, Sherlock. I'd have slapped your cheek –"

"Which you've done –

"Which I've done and with good cause," she countered stonily. "Do you really want to go there again?"

Sherlock ignored that and went back to his grievances. "Do her shopping –"

"Just the once –"

"And even then you made a fuss," he hissed.

"You forgot the milk."

Sherlock stood glowering at Molly, arms crossed. "I've had enough."

"Fine," she said ungraciously, mirroring his position. "Today was going to be the last of it anyway."

Sherlock turned his wrath on Mycroft. _"You_ can help her move the bloody sofa, brother dear. _I'm_ leaving."

"Wouldn't you like to stay for tea?" Her tone was cloyingly sweet.

"Stuff it, Molly," Sherlock muttered under his breath as he strode toward the door.

Molly's eyes met Mycroft's in shared amusement before she hurried after his brother. Mycroft went to the kitchen and put the kettle on, then leaned against the counter, crossing his ankles as he matched stares with the cat and the voices rose and fell in the front entry. Molly's rose again, but in a much friendlier tone. "Thank you, Sherlock! See you tomorrow!" Mycroft heard the door close, then Molly came into the kitchen and sat at the table. "I hope you don't think I've been too hard on your brother, but he deserved to suffer some consequences for what he did to us," she said, drumming her fingers on the table as she met his gaze. _"Damn it,_ Mycroft! I've put up with so much over the years –"

"I'm impressed by your ingeniousness, my dear."

Molly grinned. "Despite how Sherlock reacted today, he's actually been remarkably cooperative considering some of the things I've had him do. I haven't been above extracting some petty revenge." She got up and went to stand in front of Mycroft. "You owe me a kiss," she said, lifting her chin. When he briefly pressed his lips to hers and pulled her closer to rest against him, she sighed and closed her eyes. _"Mmmm_ , that was lovely … but completely insufficient in this instance," she continued more briskly as she pushed herself away from him. "John told me about the _Les Mis_ incident so I also had Sherlock call your mother and ask to take your place the next time they come to London to see a musical."

 _"_ _That_ was diabolical," Mycroft said with a slow smile as he straightened and took her more firmly into his arms. "Thank you, Molly." He slid his hand through her hair and tilted her head back as he lowered his lips to hers. When he ran his tongue over her bottom lip, she opened her mouth and the kiss deepened, became passionate, until they had to separate for much needed breaths. Mycroft rested his chin on the top of Molly's head and made a mental note to double the usual deposit to Sherlock's bank account to make up for any loss he may have suffered if he'd let billable cases go while dealing with Molly's "assignments." His brother never expressed any concerns about money matters and seemed to take it for granted that his account remained healthy without questioning the sources of funds. Although Sherlock earned a better living from playing detective than Mycroft had ever expected, the inflow of cash wasn't steady since his brother worked _gratis_ as often as not.

Mycroft sighed, then grasped Molly's waist to hold her away from him. "I need to talk to you, Molly."

Molly looked at him uncertainly as she waved her hand toward the table. "Have a seat while I finish the tea," she said.

"The tea can wait," he said, pulling out the chair at a right angle to his. He waited until Molly sat down, then took her hand. "I warned you when this started that I'm not a kind man, my dear, and close exposure to your warm heart these last few months has had little, if any, effect on that." He thought of how easily his distrust had returned on finding Sherlock at Molly's flat, how quickly he'd believed her capable of inconstancy. "The Embassy dinner I told you about …," he paused and slowly shook his head.

"We're not going?"

 _"_ _I'm_ going," he corrected her, then continued in an even tone. "When it comes to work, I frequently use people for my own purposes without a second thought, and I was prepared to use _you."_

A crease appeared between Molly's brows as she stared at him. "You said my accompanying you would be 'advantageous'," she said slowly. "I wondered about you using that term, but decided it was just you being ... _you."_

"You were correct as it turns out, but not in the way you meant," he said. "My appearing at such a dinner with a companion would to some extent have thrown off certain parties interested in my activities, but it would also have put you under their scrutiny," he said.

"If it would really help you, I could –"

"No, Molly," he said sternly, but gave her hand a squeeze before letting go.

"Well, I'm glad you told me before I bought a new dress," she said with a quick smile. "Is that it then?" When Mycroft lifted his brows, she clarified, "Is that the entire confession?" A lift of his chin and a brief nod confirmed that. "Need I tell you that I don't care?" she asked curiously, then repeated more seriously. "I don't care, Mycroft. In fact, if it would help you, I'd like to –"

"No, Molly," he repeated flatly, giving her a narrow-eyed stare.

"All right." Molly finally broke their eye contact with a roll of hers, then got up, stepped behind his chair, and suddenly slid her arms around his shoulders. "You're much kinder than you realize," she said in a low voice and kissed the side of his neck.

Mycroft turned his head until his eyes met hers. "I'm really not."

They silently stared at each other until Molly tilted her head toward the bedroom. "Do you want to …?"

"Yes," he said emphatically, then continued more grimly, "but I have to be at a meeting in …," he paused to glance at her wall clock, "about ninety minutes and I need to go home first to shower and shave."

"Now you're just being a tease," she said, smoothing her fingers over his jaw and sighing dramatically. She released him and stood back as he rose to his feet. "Will I see you this weekend?"

"About that," Mycroft said, staring down at her, "would you like to go out to dinner Saturday night?"

"Dinner out?" Molly's eyes widened. "As in an official, non-work-related date?"

"Don't act so shocked," he said drily. "You must remember Antonio's." His lips curved when color rose in her cheeks. "And on Sunday …"

"Yes?"

"I thought we could drive down to my parents' place."

"Oh," she said weakly. "That sounds –"

"Ghastly?"

 _"_ _NO!_ No, I'm sure it will be lovely," she said carefully.

"I wouldn't go that far, but I think you'll like them – other people usually do," he said with a quizzical look, "and I know they'll like you."

"Your bit of skirt," she said lightly before her eyes slid away from his.

He pressed his lips together in a thin line as he studied her expression. "My parents didn't think that. _I've_ never thought that. You're my …," he paused.

Molly's gaze returned to his. "Can't finish that thought, can you," she said teasingly, then added more seriously. _"Friend_ will do."

"My good friend."

"Just don't slur the words. You'd hate it if they thought you said 'girlfriend'."

Mycroft gave an exasperated snort. "You think you're so cute."

"We could just say you're my lover and make it easy."

"Friend," he said sternly. "Good friend."

"Friend," she agreed.

"Now," he said, stepping away from her and moving toward the sitting room. "Where do you want the sofa?"

"Back where it was," she admitted. "I didn't really want to rearrange my furniture. Sherlock was right to be aggravated."

# #

Ten minutes later, Molly followed Mycroft to the front entry and waited while he put his coat on. He stepped closer and stood looking down at her for several silent moments before bending to press his lips to hers. He pulled away with obvious reluctance, then his eyes met hers and he bent again to kiss her more firmly, more thoroughly ... more deeply … until Molly hummed low in her throat. Mycroft quickly released her, grabbed his umbrella and went out the door with an abrupt, "I'll call you later."

Molly drew a long, shuddery breath, then pushed away from the door and headed toward the kitchen. A _date_ \- she and Mycroft were going on an actual date, just the two of them. And in public.

A little while later, Molly carried the teapot to the table and poured herself a cup before sitting down. She sighed happily and lifted the tea toward her mouth … then paused, wondering where Mycroft might take her. A moment later, the cup clattered against its saucer as the more important question occurred to Molly. _What the hell was she going to wear?_


	15. Debut, Part II: In Plain Sight

_Summary: Mycroft and Molly finally spend an evening out – an actual planned date! – and experience the delights that sometimes come after having to delay one's pleasures for a while …_

#####

Molly was ready half an hour before Mycroft was due to pick her up and then had to spend the unexpected free time trying to calm down. Reminding herself it was _just a date(!)_ didn't have much effect on her nerves _or_ excitement level. At ten minutes to seven, she was back at her bedroom mirror, turning from side to side, leaning close and away … questioning every choice, seeing every flaw.

She'd had her hair trimmed late that afternoon and the loose style and left-side parting was casually sexy … or so the salon staff had assured her. But maybe she should have gone for an updo? And her makeup … was it too much? She'd let them go farther with it than was her norm, and she supposed the result was still understated compared to – well, _most_ people who were going on a special date. But her lips … was that bronze red really a good color for her? Did it look like she was trying too hard? "Oh _god,"_ she groaned and made a face at Toby, who was pretending to ignore her from his place on the bed.

She'd been wearing her new heels off and on all day, knowing she needed to practice walking in the stilettos, and she could now easily saunter across the flat without wobbling. Molly's practical nature had made her ensure the shoes had good heel protectors, but otherwise they'd been her most impractical, most impulsive purchase for ages. She twisted sideways to study them again. The girly part of her loved the scalloped sides and the bow above the peep-toe that showed off her fresh pedicure. Bronze red again. Surely the darker tone against the black leather wasn't as overtly sexy as a true red would be?

Molly suddenly grinned at herself in the mirror. _Damn,_ but the shoes made her feel sexy! And what the height of the heel did for the appearance of her bum and legs ... Mycroft might even notice, although he seemed to care little about what she wore.

She turned to look over her shoulder in the mirror again and frowned. Her only true discomfort came from the black dress, which was supposedly a "classic." All she knew about where they were going was Mycroft said to treat it as a special occasion, but not a formal one, and that he'd be wearing a dark suit. When asked for an opinion by Molly, the sales assistant had interpreted his comment to mean a cocktail dress would be suitable – and she'd assured Molly the LBD was sophisticated but not too sophisticated, dressy but not overly formal, classy but with a touch of sex. The silk peau de soie was subdued, but the bodice had a lightly beaded organza overlay and the close-fitting sleeves were of the same thin organza. The neckline was high with a button-loop closure at her nape, and the length was modest at mid-knee. Still, the material skimmed over her waist and hips a bit too closely, she thought, and even worse the back –

Molly turned away from the mirror with a smile on hearing the three quick taps ring out and hurried to the entry, swinging the black velvet cape she'd found in a vintage shop around her shoulders and fastening its jeweled clasp at her throat with one hand while reaching for the doorknob with the other. Mycroft could have let himself in, but she liked that he'd waited for her.

"Good evening, Mycroft," she opened the door wide, not trying to hide her excitement as he came into the flat. He stooped to set his suit bag on the floor along the wall, then started to kiss her, but hesitated when he saw her lipstick. "It's supposed to be smudge-proof," she said, keeping her chin lifted in invitation.

Mycroft pressed his lips carefully to hers, then pulled back and raised his brows. "You've grown," he observed drily, then lifted his brows when she rested her hand on his shoulder and held her foot out. "Good lord, Molly – you could break an ankle falling off of those."

"I'm not going to fall," she assured him. "I've been practicing."

"You do look lovely, my dear," he said softly.

"Thank you … so do you."

"Lovely?"

 _"_ _Handsome."_

His lips quirked in response. "Are you ready to go?"

# # #

Molly turned from watching the busy vehicle and people traffic along Piccadilly to instead study Mycroft, who looked up from his mobile after a few moments. "All right?"

"Other than being curious about where we're going, yes."

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course," she said, frowning. "Why?"

"We're dining at a restaurant that has excellent service, excellent food and, I'll admit, an old-fashioned ambience, but if you go in determined to enjoy the experience, you will."

"Oh god, Mycroft – you mean it's somewhere that I'll feel totally out of place."

"No," he said, taking her hand, "there's absolutely no need for that. I'm hoping it will be a treat for you, and I promise we'll dine very well indeed."

Molly's eyes widened. She understood him well enough to read between the lines ... and she would likely feel out of place, she thought, turning to look out the window again. She was sure he didn't intend their evening out to be a test of some sort, but she also understood he was about to share part of his world that would be alien to her experience. She bit her lip, then suddenly remembered the lipstick and quickly released it. She squared her shoulders and turned back to him with a smile. "Does that mean _you_ plan to enjoy the meal? No unnecessary dieting tonight?"

"I plan to savor every bite," Mycroft assured her, thinking of the meals he'd cut back on or skipped entirely over the past five days and the extra time he'd spent on his treadmill.

Molly looked out the window as they made a turn. Duke Street St. James's, she thought, but then they turned again. _Jermyn Street?_ No, surely it wasn't … but it _was._ As they drew to a stop, she studied the restaurant's deceptively modest entrance – the street frontage being just the width of a single glass door beside a sheet glass window – if one disregarded all the rich wood paneling and woodwork framing said door and window … and all the mahogany paneling one could see in the vestibule just beyond the door. She turned to stare at Mycroft again -

"It will be fine," he said, squeezing her hand as the car door opened. She hesitated a moment before letting go of him and then carefully climbed out, thanked the driver and turned to wait for Mycroft. Once he'd had a word with Simon, he offered Molly his arm. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Molly slipped her hand through Mycroft's elbow as they crossed the pavement and then nodded at the doorman who stepped aside as he greeted them. _Madam?_ She kept her expression pleasant, offering staff members a small smile whenever it seemed appropriate, but stayed silent as they checked their outer garments.

Mycroft ran his eyes down Molly's dress and gave her a warm smile before turning to face the restaurant manager who'd arrived to welcome them. As they exchanged greetings (using first names, Molly noticed), Mycroft rested his hand against Molly's back … then immediately dropped it, startled that his fingers had touched the silky smoothness of her bare skin. She glanced at Mycroft curiously before looking at the manager again. As the other man pivoted to lead them to their table, Mycroft discreetly tilted his head to study the back of her dress and realized his hand had inadvertently slipped through an oval slit in the beaded overlay between her neck and waist that at its widest point displayed a two-inch strip of her spine. He carefully placed his hand to the side of the vertical opening, urging Molly forward, then became aware that his fingers were cupping the side of her hip too intimately so he shifted his hand upward again, making sure it was resting on the beaded material and not warm flesh.

Mycroft resisted the desire to run his finger along the inside of what suddenly felt like a too tight collar. He eventually dropped his hand and simply followed behind Molly, but then realized his eyes had wandered over her bottom and lingered too long on the back of her legs. He quickly shifted his gaze over her head … and straight into the eyes of Sir Edwin, who was sitting at a nearby table.

Molly's step faltered when Mycroft suddenly cursed under his breath and she hesitated and looked at him over her shoulder. "What is it," she mouthed.

He put his hand on her back again, encouraging her to catch up with the manager, who'd paused to wait on them. "Nothing, my dear. Let's get to our table."

Molly had mostly kept her eyes facing forward and concentrated on not wobbling on the thick carpeting, but she still couldn't help but notice and appreciate all the mahogany paneling, richly colored paintings, warm lighting and hushed conversation. It looked more like how she imagined an old-fashioned gentlemen's club would be than it did a restaurant … more a case of nooks and crannies than open dining area. She'd started to wonder about them being put so far toward the back of the dining room but then smiled broadly when they were finally shown to a private booth that looked both cozy and romantic.

Molly turned her smile on their escort when he stood aside for her to settle on the deeply cushioned bench seat. She waited until Mycroft sat across from her, then scooted over so she was facing him. They were pretty much hidden from anyone else's view, and she suddenly didn't care if the manager saw her wonderment at their surroundings. No doubt he knew she'd never been there before – or ever had any idea of being there - so Molly sat back and openly checked out their booth.

The backs of the benches were also cushioned in green velvet, and each side of the booth was framed in mahogany to the ceiling with an inset panel of etched glass. The booth was cozily lit by a lamp mounted above a painting on the wall beside them as well as a small lamp on the table. The table was set with crisp white linen, heavy silver, wine glasses ... Molly silently swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and focused on arranging the two loose cushions more comfortably behind her.

"Molly?" She looked up with a smile and raised brows. "Would you like to start with some oysters? If not, there are many other options," Mycroft said, lifting his hand toward the menu she'd so far disregarded, then glanced at the manager who'd been joined by a waitress. "Give us a few minutes, please." When they left, he leaned forward and rested his hand over Molly's. "There's no rush about anything tonight, my dear. Take your time."

Rather than open the menu, Molly twisted her hand under his until they were palm to palm. "May I be very old-fashioned and ask you to order for me?"

"I don't know what you –"

"If you order me something different from yours, would it be terribly gauche to share dishes?"

"Terribly," he said straight-faced, "but I think they'd get over it." When Molly laughed, he said, "No, it's not a problem." He released her hand and sat back when the waitress returned.

Molly watched him interact with the woman (who was wearing a strangely old-fashioned uniform), but paid little attention to what he actually said. She'd eat whatever he ordered for her – or at least taste it. She just hoped he didn't realize she'd been too nervous to look at the menu, having previously seen restaurant reviews that said its prices were astonishingly high. She simply didn't want to know what the dinner was going to cost Mycroft, no matter how little he'd notice the dip into his pocket. She turned her head, abruptly focused on the couple currently being shown to the next booth and had to forcefully suppress a gasp. _Good god_ … the man was high enough in the royal pecking order that she actually knew where he was placed in line to the throne.

Molly settled deeper against the seat cushion and stared at Mycroft as the waitress finally left. She'd known Mycroft was used to dealing with people in high places – even the highest in the land – but she'd never actually _seen_ him out among them.

He fit there … absolutely.

She mentally shook off her insecurities and leaned over the table. "You promised me a treat, Mycroft, but I never expected _this."_

"I forbid – yes, _forbid,"_ he stressed at her raised brows. "I forbid you to be intimidated by a restaurant just because it's been around, in one form or another, for almost three hundred years."

"That's not why I –"

"Molly," he said chidingly and reached for her hand. "Just enjoy it … please." They continued to stare at each other and eventually the corners of his eyes creased in amusement and her lips turned up. His expression relaxed into an actual grin when Molly jumped at the unexpected rattle from the silver champagne stand being set beside the booth. His face had smoothed into its usual neutral lines when he glanced at the sommelier and lifted his chin in a nod.

Molly's attention wandered from their discussion of wines for the rest of the meal and focused on the deftness with which the man opened the champagne with a discreet _pop._ He raised the bottle toward Molly with another _Madam?_ … and waited for her nod before filling her glass. She wasn't sure whether to pick it up or wait, so glanced at Mycroft and easily interpreted the flick of his brow and quirk of his lip. She took a self-conscious sip, then smiled at both men – and thought their evening out was surely going to be marred if she didn't relax.

So over the next couple of hours, Molly did.

There were oysters to start for him and lobster cocktail for her. He'd encouraged her to try an oyster and actually demonstrated two methods of eating them. First a quick squeeze of lemon, then lift the widest end to the lips and tilt the oyster and juices from the shell directly into the mouth … and choose whether to chew the meat to enjoy all the rich flavor (which he preferred) or to swallow it whole. When Mycroft tilted his head back and let an oyster slide down his throat, Molly stared as his flesh moved with his swallow and felt a fluttering warmth between her legs. She knew her color had risen when he lowered his chin and looked at her … and whatever showed on her face caused him to hesitate before setting the shell aside. He stared at her for a moment, then waved two fingers at the remaining oysters. "Do you want to try one, my dear?" His eyes widened a fraction and noticeably darkened when Molly slid off her bench and came around to sit by him.

"All right," she said, glancing up at him. She carefully picked up a shell and maneuvered the widest part toward her mouth, then paused. "I think I'm a swallow-it-whole girl." She tipped the oyster into her mouth and suppressed an instinctive grimace at the texture, then tilted her head farther back and prayed it would go down without gagging her. "Thank you, Mycroft," she said softly after a few moments … and then behaved very badly indeed when she gave his thigh a brisk rub and pat before scooting off his bench and moving back to hers, where she reached for her glass of champagne without looking at him. The ensuing silence felt tense until Mycroft finally cleared his throat and reached for another oyster. Molly carefully kept her eyes lowered until he'd swallowed it and reached for his own glass.

"So, um, what's next on the menu?" Molly realized she was nervously fingering the silver cutlery and forced herself to stop as Mycroft briefly described the choices he'd made for them.

A stilton soufflé was followed by cold beef consommé and then the evening's spectacle … a visit by the carving trolley with its enormous silver dome that was lifted by the _trancheur_ to reveal a gorgeous beef wellington. A waiter appeared with glazed carrots and French beans and broccoli. Over the meal, they had the champagne and red wine – two types, she thought – and another white as they went from course to course. And still there was more to come ... and somewhere amidst the focus on fine dining, Molly had again brought things back to what was between the two of them by slipping off a shoe and sliding her silk-stockinged foot beneath Mycroft's trouser leg and up his shin. She'd stared at him silently as she brushed her toes against him for several seconds before drawing her foot back … and his narrowed gaze and fixed expression had made her shiver before she lowered her eyes to her plate again. Her breath had audibly caught when his shoe nudged the toe of hers then slid between her feet and stayed there.

Throughout their evening the restaurant staff had been discreet, never hovering or otherwise making Molly feel self-conscious about her and Mycroft's quiet conversation, but they always seemed to appear at just the right moment. Mycroft had waved away salad, then the cheese plate when Molly finally said "I simply can't" but when the desserts arrived … _Oh dear._ Bread and butter pudding with vanilla custard for him, strawberry crumble with lemony ice cream for her, along with the coffee service.

Then later, while Mycroft was taking care of business matters, Molly took the opportunity to go to the loo. He arched a brow quizzically when she returned, and she knew her expression had probably reflected her rather ribald thoughts … and promptly blushed.

# # #

Just as they stepped out onto the pavement and moved toward the curb, a strong gust of wind sent Molly's cape swirling around her knees and her hair flying. She turned to Mycroft, laughing in delight even as her shoulders hunched and sudden shivers ran through her. The velvet cape provided very little protection from the drop in temperature. _"Brrrrrr!_ Where did _this_ come from?"

"Straight from the Arctic, it would seem," Mycroft said, laughing under his breath as he opened the front of his overcoat and Molly ran into his arms without hesitation. He quickly gathered her in and wrapped the coat around her. "Better?" When a heavy shudder ran through her, Mycroft cocked his head so he could see her face in the soft glow of the streetlight. "Molly?"

"Yes," she said huskily, shifting to grip his back more firmly. "Much better." She tilted her head until her eyes met his, then lowered her gaze to his lips – so tantalizingly close because of her high heels. Her lips parted on a shaky breath when Mycroft's hands clutched her even more closely and she stopped breathing altogether when his mouth edged lower … but then his head jerked back and Molly heard the smooth purr of the car's engine as it came to a stop behind her.

# # #

As the car merged with traffic on Piccadilly, Molly became aware that she was twisting her hands in her lap and quickly glanced Mycroft's way. He'd just pulled his mobile from his pocket and looked up at the same moment. "Sorry," he said, "but I need to check something."

Until Molly saw him now with the phone, she hadn't considered its absence while they were in the restaurant. "Of course," she said, then turned to look out the window as she carefully flattened her hands against her thighs. She'd come so close, she thought – _too_ close to blurting out her feelings when he'd drawn her against him, shared the warmth of his coat and body. Even now she couldn't believe he'd acted so impulsively in public … one might say _affectionately,_ she thought. Molly turned back when Mycroft sighed and tucked his phone away. "Problem at work?"

He smiled lazily as he rolled his head toward her. "It's simply been a long time since I indulged myself as freely as we did tonight."

"You're not regretting it already, are you?"

"Definitely not," he said, shifting closer to Molly as he placed his hand over hers. "I intend to regret nothing about our evening together."

"Our _date,"_ she said.

"Our date," he repeated obediently … then absolutely shocked Molly by sliding his arm around her and leaning over to press his lips to her forehead.

 _"_ _Mycroft,"_ she whispered fiercely, face flaming as she used her elbow to create some space between them. _"Simon,"_ she hissed.

"That's Simon, yes," he agreed, nodding toward the front seat.

Molly twisted until she could flatten her hands on his chest and stared at him, trying to see his face more clearly whenever the shadows were pushed back by passing streetlights. "Good god, Mycroft … are you _drunk?"_

A timely flash of light caught the eye roll as he gave an exasperated snort and withdrew his arm before sitting up. "No, I'm not drunk," he said calmly. "I was attempting to follow certain date-night etiquette."

"What?"

"A dating couple in the back seat of a car? A small kiss seemed the least I could offer," he said, then quickly added, "And a kiss was _all_ I was offering."

Molly realized her mouth was open and shut it with a snap. "You thought I expected –"

"Not _expected,"_ he said, "but I didn't want you to be disappointed."

"So you were offering me a bit of romance." When he grimaced, she slid her hands around his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Mycroft …," she said, tilting her head until she could see his face. "You've made me very happy."

They stared at each other as the flickering lights caught the gleam of the other's eyes. After a few moments, he brought his free hand to cover both of hers on his arm. "Molly …"

"Yes?"

"How is it you've never been intimidated by me."

"Oh come on, Mycroft," she snorted. "You know I was those first few times you came into Barts with Sherlock and I soon found reasons to be elsewhere. And that didn't change until your dismissive attitude finally made me really cross," she said, smiling slowly as she leaned closer. "Then once we got together, how could I be intimidated by someone I've …" He'd considerately bent his head lower, and the rest was whispered directly in his ear. When Molly sat back and looked out the window, she could feel the tingling warmth in her cheeks. She gave Mycroft a quick glance and the heat in her face intensified when the passing streetlights caught his dark expression and the taut set of his jaw. She was relieved when the sudden blast of a car horn nearby drew Mycroft's attention from her. She resolved to resist teasing him in public and quickly changed the subject. "What happened when we went into the restaurant? Something or someone annoyed you."

Mycroft sighed. "Someone from work I'd really rather not have seen, especially when I was trying to set work aside for a few hours."

"You didn't want him to see me with you," she said expressionlessly.

Mycroft's brows lowered as he frowned. "Not in the sense you likely mean," he said. "I'd rather not make Sir Edwin's meddling in my affairs easier for him."

"Sir Edwin?"

Mycroft rubbed his forehead, then tilted his head against the back of the seat as he dropped his hand to his lap. "Would you please forget that name, my dear?"

"All right."

"You won't, of course," he observed, then shifted to look down at her. "I suppose you'd call him a colleague," he said evenly, "but he's made things more difficult concerning Sherlock's current status … and that's all you need to know – and more than I should have told you. All right?"

"Yes," she said quietly. "Thank you, Mycroft." She looked past him and straightened when she saw how close they were to her flat.

# # #

"Thank you, Simon. Would you let Lawrence know we'll be expecting him at half past eight," Mycroft said, then closed the car door and placed his hand firmly on Molly's back as they crossed the pavement. He waited for her to unlock the street door, silently climbed the stairs beside her, waited again outside the flat, then followed her in and quickly shrugged out of his coat. He took Molly's cape from her and turned away, holding it between his hands for a few moments as he steadied himself. When he again faced Molly, she was staring at him wide-eyed, biting her lip, her breasts quickly rising and falling … the tension between them rocketing, and Mycroft's control finally snapped.

Molly gasped when he suddenly backed her against the door, one hand palming her breast, the other cupping her cheek, his thumb tilting her head back as his mouth covered hers. The passion was instantaneous, the touch of their lips sparking the fire that had been building for hours, days. His hands slid to her waist and lifted her higher against the door before he pressed flush against her as they continued to explore each other's mouths. They broke away to kiss and lick and nibble … cheeks and necks and ears … to the sound of inarticulate murmurs and swallowed moans. Molly clutched Mycroft's back, fingers twisting the material of his jacket as he dragged his mouth down her throat to her breast, sucking strongly on her nipple through her dress until he caught the hardened flesh between his teeth. His hands ran down the back of her thighs and roughly pulled at her dress, bunching the material in his fists before dragging it up her legs. Molly pressed back harder against the wood panels, breathing harshly as she reached to help him tug her dress up … and cried out when his hand gripped the back of her left thigh and hauled her knee high along his side. He caught her other thigh and raised that knee, then ground himself against her as she wound her legs around him. His hands slowly slid along the backs of her thighs, his grip momentarily tightening when the smoothness of silk stockings changed to the rougher texture of their lacy tops … slid higher and even more slowly over the bare skin of her upper thighs and then under her bottom … hesitating for a moment on feeling nothing but bare skin … then he spread one hand over both cheeks and firmly gripped her as he dragged his free hand around her hip, over her stomach, and speared his fingers between the juncture of her thighs, working his hand deeper until the flat of his palm was cupping her. Molly bucked against him, rubbing herself against the heel of his hand, and moaned his name long and low and desperately, her breathing harsh against his ear. He ground his hand against her moist flesh and then his clever fingers were dipping into her, sliding through her folds, stroking, probing, as the heel of his hand massaged her, kneading, fondling … his thumb circling and pressing as he claimed her lips again. He finally broke away, leaving both of them breathing raggedly, and pressed his forehead to hers for several long moments before pulling back to look at her.

"Molly -" He broke off when she shook her head helplessly, not breaking eye contact. "We should move to the bedroom," he muttered.

 _"_ _No,_ don't, Mycroft - _please_ don't move." Molly clutched him closer and only loosened her hold when he eased his weight off her and reached between them to open his trousers … and then her hands were there to help free him.

Mycroft grunted when she took him in her fist, gripping firmly as she brushed her thumb over the tip of his cock. His breath caught and Molly clamped her mouth on his, her tongue seeking entry and then sliding between his lips with a slow thrust … and again. She slid her fist down and back up his cock, pumped firmly once more, then held him in place as Mycroft bent his knees with a grunt, slowly penetrating her and pushing deeper until he could go no farther ... closing his eyes to focus for a moment on the warm, wet, silkiness of the flesh surrounding him. Molly gasped and pressed her head against the door, and he lifted his head … his eyes meeting hers … and suddenly Molly was laughing. "We should have more self-control than this," she gasped. "We're not teenagers."

"Ninety-five percent of my time is all about control," he ground out against her throat. "I can bloody well have this one thing that _isn't!"_ Molly laughed again, then wiggled her feet to kick off her shoes, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and pressed her cheek to the side of his head, breath catching as his fingers gripped her bottom more firmly with his slow withdrawal. She shifted upward and wound her legs higher around him, her fingernails and heels digging into him as he drove firmly into her, his cock stretching her, its tip nudging, prodding her innermost flesh. He pulled away slowly, inch by inch, until he was almost free from the grip of her body, then swiftly thrust upward with a rough jerk of his hips … another slow withdrawal followed by a forceful thrust, and another … then his hips bucked harder and faster and their breathing became louder, their hearts hammering in their chests, and they were close … so close. Mycroft worked a hand between them and after just a few firm strokes of his fingers Molly came with a loud gasping moan as her body tightened around him. A few more thrusts and he followed her over the edge, pressing high into her with a guttural groan, and they stayed wrapped together, pressed against the door … chests heaving, muscles twitching and trembling.

Their harsh breathing slowly eased and Mycroft turned his face against Molly's throat, kissed her neck and then huffed a laugh. "Wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am," he said gruffly. "I think that's what applies to this type of encounter."

"Then 'thank-you-kind-sir' would be my response," she murmured huskily, cocking her head to kiss his ear. "It might have been fast, but _that_ ..." [kissing his jaw] " _was ..."_ [kissing his cheek] _"brilliant!"_ He lifted his head and the next kiss was mouth to mouth. _"Mmm …,"_ she sighed, "you darling." After a moment's stillness, Molly tensed as she realized what she'd said, then deliberately relaxed her muscles as she chose to ignore it. "Better let me down," she said lightly. "My leg's about to get a cramp."

Mycroft held her by the waist as she slid her knees down the sides of his thighs, then leaned back and lowered her to her feet. He handed her his handkerchief and Molly glanced up at him before making use of it, then finally crumpled the soft cotton in her fist and shook her dress until it fell into place. Mycroft adjusted his trousers, then stooped to pick up the clutch she'd dropped and handed it to her with a smile. "You want me to massage your leg for you?"

Molly pursed her lips, considering that. "I'd rather you wash my back," she finally said.

"I could do both," he suggested.

"You're on."

#####

They'd donned pajamas after getting a shower, and Molly curled up on the sofa to read while Mycroft made a couple of calls. It was after midnight when they eventually settled into bed, with Mycroft spooned closely along the curve of Molly's body, his arm slung over her waist. "So," she said, "how did you survive our first real date?"

"I certainly enjoyed the last part," he observed, deadpan.

Molly shifted to get more comfortable, then patted his arm. "So did I, but I enjoyed the dinner as well." She rolled her head toward him. "Thank you, Mycroft, for a lovely evening."

He raised up to kiss her, then dropped back onto his pillow. "Good night, Molly."

"Night."

Molly was on the verge of drifting off when Mycroft's soft murmur broke the silence. "You took your knickers off when you went to the ladies, didn't you."

Her body had jerked when he first spoke, but she relaxed again with a chuckle. "I did," she admitted. "I thought we might end up … you know."

"That showed good planning, my dear," he said, then smoothly added, "and it certainly made 'you know' easier."

Molly's eyes widened in the darkness when his voice deepened, and she deliberately brushed her fingers over his forearm. "Mycroft …?" Her breath caught when his arm shifted against her and his hand cupped her breast, his thumb brushing her nipple, which quickly rose to his touch.

"Hmm?"

She felt him move behind her and turned her head toward him as she rolled partway onto her back. In the dim light from a streetlight filtering through the curtains, she could see that he'd lifted himself onto his elbow. "Aren't you too tired?"

Mycroft carefully brushed Molly's hair to the side, then leaned over and pressed his lips to her throat. She sighed when he kissed his way up her neck and swallowed audibly when he sat up and reached for the hem of her nightshirt … and moaned when his warm hands began to move over her skin. "I'm not too tired," he murmured against her breast. "Are you?" He didn't wait for an answer before taking her nipple between his lips, then huffed a laugh at how quickly she wrapped her arms and legs around him.


	16. Encore, Part I: Back On Stage

_Chapter Summary: Mycroft takes Molly on what he expects to be an uneventful visit with his parents, hoping to offset the family drama that surrounded their initial introduction_

#####

Molly Hooper woke early Sunday morning and carefully shifted higher on the bed, arranging the pillows behind her before leaning against the headboard. She glanced around her bedroom, enjoying the intimacy of the hushed stillness, the coziness of the soft sunlight filtering through the curtains ... but the true source of her contentment was the man still asleep beside her.

Molly tilted her head against the pillows and indulged in eyeing Mycroft - first lingering on the smooth lines of his face, so markedly untroubled in sleep … then watching his chest move with each shallow breath, running her eyes over his splayed limbs … and she suddenly experienced a rush of emotions that made her throat tighten, her pulse quicken, her vision blur with tears. This man who always seemed to be on his guard around others had slept peacefully in her bed from the earliest days of their relationship. How had she earned that level of trust? Was there more to it than that?

Molly's breath caught when Mycroft's lips twitched and he opened his eyes, blinking drowsily in that first moment of consciousness. He turned his head toward Molly and blinked again as his eyes focused on hers, and she felt a sharp pang at seeing the warmth enter his gaze and the creases appear at the corners of his eyes as he slowly smiled at her. They regarded each other silently until Mycroft shifted position to roll onto his elbow and prop his head on his hand. "Good morning, Molly."

She regarded the rumpled tuft of hair curling against his forehead and the pillow mark on his cheek with affection. "Good morning, Mycroft." Her gaze ran slowly down his body and more quickly back up, and Molly felt heat rise in her cheeks as their eyes met again. She reached out blindly for her mobile to check the time, then frowned and turned to look when it wasn't where she expected. Her flush intensified when she saw the phone on the floor by the side table and remembered just how she'd knocked it off the previous night. She scooted down the bed and leaned over to retrieve it, then lay back and glanced at Mycroft, who was watching her with obvious amusement and that _damned_ knowing look … as if he could read her every thought. Which he probably could, in this case.

Molly bit her lip to suppress an answering grin, then shook her head regretfully and sighed. "Sad as it would be to allow such a _splendid_ morning glory go to waste, I suppose we should start getting ready to leave." Her breathing deepened when Mycroft sat up and tugged the T-shirt over his head. "Besides …," she continued casually as he lifted his hips and pushed the pajama bottoms down his legs, "after last night, you'd hardly be interested in more –" Molly broke off with a squeal when Mycroft suddenly pounced on her, nuzzling her neck with his rather bristly chin as he carefully nudged her legs apart with his thigh.

# # #

Once they finally got out of bed, Mycroft called the driver to delay their departure by an hour after assuring Molly his parents simply expected them to arrive in time for Sunday dinner. Mycroft's mobile started buzzing as they left the flat, and Molly again witnessed how swiftly his voice, his body, his entire _aura_ could harden into that chilly persona he presented to the rest of the world.

When Mycroft eventually tucked his phone away almost an hour later, he angled his body toward Molly and stretched out his legs with a low grunt as the car bowled along the A3 north of Guildford. "I'm sorry, my dear, but that should take care of work for a while."

Molly turned away from the passing scenery and smiled to see that his expression had again softened to the one more common when they were alone together. "It's a beautiful day," she said, "and a treat to get out in the countryside."

Mycroft glanced out the window then looked at Molly with a twist of his lips. "Not much to see along here other than urban sprawl."

He seemed to be relaxed, but Molly noticed a slight jiggling of his foot. Mycroft wasn't prone to fidgeting – at least not in her presence – and she wondered at the cause. "Are you worried about this visit?"

His foot stilled as he raised his brows. "Not at all."

"What did your parents say when you told them we were coming down?" Molly's eyes widened when he didn't answer immediately. "Mycroft? You did tell them, right?"

"They know I'm coming," he said evenly.

"Just you?" She dropped her head against the seat back with a dramatic groan. "Oh god."

Mycroft sighed. "Molly – you don't know my mother. If I'd given her notice that you're coming with me, she'd likely have had the banns read this morning."

Molly rolled her head to stare at him. "She's going to think that we're –"

"Presumably," he said, "but once we're there she'll accept the truth about our relationship readily enough."

Molly turned to look out the window. "I'm sure you'll be able to convince them we're just good friends." Mycroft stared at the back of her head and a crease appeared between his brows as he considered her offhand tone, but then she gave him a quick smile. "It shouldn't be too difficult."

He looked out the window again as the car slowed for heavier traffic, still frowning as he pictured Molly's expression. He suddenly felt that he'd let her down somehow, and he didn't like it … then grimaced to himself at the thought. _Feelings._ "My parents will be happy to meet you." After a moment, he added, "Again. They'll be eager to make up for what happened the first time."

Molly couldn't miss the hard edge to his last comment. "Don't think about that, Mycroft," she chided softly while reaching for his hand. "If _I_ can let it go, you can. Now," she said more cheerfully, deliberately threading her fingers through his as she changed the subject, "how much longer until we get there?" Molly rested the side of her head against the seat back while he replied and then went on to describe their route, but she gave only partial attention to what he was saying as she studied his face and considered how much she loved every feature, every inch, of that cool mask Mycroft showed the world. He was such a complicated man, with so much hidden behind walls she'd likely never be able to scale, but she _loved_ those depths, his complexity, no matter that she'd never fully know him. She abruptly straightened when her eyes met his, and her cheeks flushed at the look he was giving her from under half-closed eyelids. She realized he'd stopped talking some moments before and she again had the distinct impression he could read every one of her thoughts. The moment stretched out and she waited, breath held, until he eventually arched a brow.

"Did you hear any of that, my dear?" Mycroft's low rumble caused the fine hairs on Molly's body to rise and she made an inarticulate noise as she swallowed the lump in her throat and finally remembered to breathe. There was definitely a smile lurking in his eyes when he squeezed her hand. "Molly?"

"What."

His lips twitched at her distracted tone. "We'll be there soon," he said, then surprised her by lifting their joined hands to his mouth and kissing the back of hers. "Perhaps you should open your window a bit ... let the fresh air help you to wake up."

 _Cool down,_ she supposed he meant as she blindly reached for the window switch.

# # #

Once they exited the A3, their route took them another ten miles or so through a mix of residential and agricultural areas, open fields and wooded acreage. The car finally slowed along a stretch where woods crowded both sides of the road, and Lawrence turned at a narrow break between the trees and pulled to a stop at a gate blocking a long gravel drive. Although it looked like a standard six-bar field gate, Molly noticed the hinges and locking mechanism were capped for security, the square metal posts were industrial sized, and its heavy weight was obvious by the smooth way the gate opened. As they passed through, she also saw cameras mounted high on posts at the edge of the tree line on either side of the drive.

After fifty yards or so, the drive turned to the right and the trees thinned. Straight ahead, set at an angle and surrounded by a stone wall, was a large, two-storied cottage with a dark slate roof, three chimneys, and a rosy stucco façade. The drive again curved to the right and widened onto a graveled forecourt before a sizeable outbuilding, which appeared to serve as both garage and storage facility with usable space on the upper floor. Lawrence brought the car to a stop in front of the timbered garage doors, then got out and opened Molly's door before continuing around to the boot.

Molly got out of the car and watched as the driver took two large duffle bags from the boot, stopped to talk briefly to Mycroft (too softly for her to hear), and then went through a single door in the outbuilding after acknowledging Molly with a lift of his chin. She looked at Mycroft across the car's roof with raised brows.

"Lawrence is changing shifts with another driver," he said smoothly as he shut the car door, as if that didn't raise more questions for Molly than it answered. She walked around the boot to join Mycroft, who brought her close alongside him with a hand on the small of her back and then crossed the forecourt and onto the grass. Molly slowed at a gate set in the stone wall, but Mycroft kept going along a path worn in the grass. "Let's go around to the front garden," he said, urging her forward before turning a few moments later at the outside corner of the wall.

Beyond the wall was an open field of several acres, tall grasses waving in the light breeze, small groupings of trees scattered here and there, and more woods on the far side. They followed the path to another decorative iron gate set midway along the front of the wall, and Molly preceded him into the garden and partway up the central flagstone walkway before stopping to study the cottage. She was delighted by how charming – how _pretty_ \- the cottage was … not only the dark-rose stucco, but the cream-colored stone masonry around the door and windows; the uneven spacing of the upper windows; the rustic wood door with black metal strapping and hammered nails; the stone slab steps with a neat stack of firewood on one side and an oak whisky barrel on the other; and the informal nature of the landscaping with so many shades of green from the sod to the shrubbery to the lush plants in numerous planters and hanging baskets. Roses, forsythia, hydrangea and blooming flower beds – Molly easily recognized snapdragons, phlox and asters - provided vivid splashes of color throughout the garden.

Mycroft went first up the two steps and slipped a key into the lock, then glanced over his shoulder and frowned when he saw Molly was still standing at some distance, obviously hanging back. The door opened before he could say anything and his mother was there on the threshold, smiling delightedly as she reached to hug him. Mycroft nodded at his father over Violet's shoulder … and knew the exact moment she saw Molly because her fingers tightened on his back and her breath caught just before she abruptly released him.

Mycroft stepped aside and lifted his hand toward Molly, beckoning her to come closer. "Mummy, Dad … this is my friend, Dr. Molly Hooper," he said, taking Molly's hand as she came up the steps and tugging her forward to stand in front of him. "Molly … my parents, Violet and Siger Holmes."

Mycroft's brows flicked upward and Molly suppressed a gasp when his mother didn't hesitate before hugging her. "It's a pleasure to see you, my dear," Violet said, pulling away but keeping hold of Molly's hands. "Welcome to our home."

Molly returned her smile. "I'm happy to 'officially' meet you, Mrs. Holmes … Mr. Holmes," she added, looking past Violet. "I didn't know it was going to be a surprise to you," she said drily, glancing over her shoulder at Mycroft.

"Oh, but it's a _wonderful_ surprise, Dr. Hooper!"

"Please call me 'Molly'."

Mycroft cleared his throat. "Could we perhaps go into the house, Mummy?"

"Oh!" Violet stepped back, fluttering a bit as she dropped Molly's hands, then pushed her husband forward. "Here, you haven't even greeted Molly yet."

"I didn't want to interrupt you, darling," Siger replied mildly, then offered Molly his hand along with a kind smile. "You're very welcome here, Molly," he said, and Molly recalled him giving her a similarly sweet smile at their previous, quickly aborted meeting. Siger then shepherded his wife ahead of him down the hall, through a cozy sitting room (Molly's first impression was _red_ – from the red sofa and chairs and walls - but it also had a stone fireplace with a brick bread oven to the side, overflowing book shelves, camel-colored rug on the dark plank floor, and more plants), and straight through a dark paneled door into a much larger sitting room.

Molly tried to take it all in without staring too obviously, but the cottage could hardly have been more of a surprise to her. What she'd seen so far was as cozy, warm and welcoming a home as she'd ever been in – so much so that it frankly boggled her mind to think of Mycroft and Sherlock spending much time in this environment … and yet Mycroft was obviously fully at home. There was so much color, so much _stuff._ The large sitting room had dark green walls and white woodwork, casement windows, a wood-burning stove set in the stone hearth, overstuffed sofa and chairs, side tables covered with framed photos and odd bits of art and stacks of books, built-in shelves overflowing with more books and family memorabilia, green plants in pots on window sills and on the floor and in hanging baskets with trailing vines, and unlit candles everywhere. An open door to the side of the hearth wall showed the bottom curve of an enclosed staircase with more pillar candles set on the steps she could see. Molly suddenly realized the others had stopped chatting about the trip down and were looking at her, and she flushed when she also realized Violet had asked her a question. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Holmes, but I was distracted by your lovely home and didn't hear what you said."

"Thank you, Molly," she said. "I have a few more things to see to about dinner and asked whether you'd like to have tea in here or join me in the kitchen."

"I'd be happy to help, Mrs. Holmes."

"There's not much left to do."

"What about peeling potatoes? I'm _great_ with a knife," Molly said, grinning.

"Oh no – that's Mycroft's job today," Violet said, "but we'll see if there's something else you could do."

Molly gave Mycroft an amused glance, expecting him to protest, but he simply pursed his lips and rolled his eyes before they all followed his mother out the door. Molly sighed happily when she entered the kitchen and saw its dark wood floor, woodblock worktops, mint-blue walls and built-in cabinets, big white knobs on cabinets and drawers, overflowing welsh dresser, well-scrubbed farmhouse table and slat-back chairs, and so many kitchen utensils and plants hanging on the walls or from the ceiling. "Another wonderful room, Mrs. Holmes."

"Thank you, Molly. I just wish it was twice as large," Violet said, "but it does have everything we need. And _then_ some," she added with a chuckle, then waved a hand at the table. "Have a seat, my dear. Let's all have some tea before we think about doing anything else."

# # #

As the four of them visited over tea, Mycroft had been able to deflect Violet's gently probing questions – both those addressed to him and occasionally those addressed to Molly as well - with seeming ease. Molly only realized the toll that effort to remain unruffled had taken on his patience when a tense silence fell in response to his mother's latest inquiry … and continued for several seconds until -

"Oh dear god."

Molly tucked in her lips and bit down hard at Mycroft's sudden groan and the way he roughly dragged both hands down his face. Her eyes slid from Mycroft to his mother, whose expression appeared _far_ too confounded to be genuine, and then to his father, whose gaze met hers in mutual amusement.

Siger took another sip of tea, hiding a grin, then looked at Molly thoughtfully and changed the subject. "I have a general idea of what you do as a pathologist, Molly, but how in the world did you get roped in to Sherlock's escapades?"

Molly laughed. "I'm sure he recognized me as a pushover the first time we met in the lab at Barts." She gave Mycroft a sidelong glance, but he'd dropped his forehead onto his palm. "I admit to being dazzled when he burst through the door and I saw those rather Byronic looks and that dramatically swirling coat with its upturned collar, and then the experiment he wanted help with was actually very interesting. Once I performed my first postmortem related to a case he was working on with Scotland Yard, I was pretty much hooked, and my boss was happy to use me as a go-between whenever Sherlock was on the premises." She paused for a sip of tea, looking at Mycroft's downturned head rather uncertainly. "I'm sure Sherlock preferred dealing with me since I was easy to maneuver when he wanted someone to monitor his experiments or when he needed a body part. It took far longer than it should have for me to take an effective stand against being manipulated," she said, her voice wobbling a bit when Mycroft lifted his head and their eyes met and held. "But now I have." She forced herself to turn away and instead looked intently at Violet and then at Siger before continuing, "I'll always want to help Sherlock because I really do care for him, but it will have to be on my terms ... and Sherlock, to his credit, has so far accepted them with good grace." After a moment, she grinned. "Of course, I've been playing the guilt card the last six weeks or so. We'll have to see what happens now that its effectiveness has worn off." Molly glanced back at Mycroft, who was still watching her with a level gaze.

"And now you've been drawn into Mycroft's cloak-and-dagger intrigue," Siger said mildly, but gave his elder son a significant look when Mycroft's gaze finally broke away from Molly's.

"Oh no, Mr. Holmes," Molly protested without thinking, "I don't know anything about _that._ We don't ever talk about Mycroft's work -" She broke off awkwardly and slowly blushed as she wondered if his parents were now wondering just what she and Mycroft _did_ get up to when alone together. "Um …," she faltered and turned her head, only to find Mycroft giving her a somewhat pained look with that vertical furrow between his brows. She was surprised a few moments later to see a flicker of amusement put a teasing glint in his eyes and lift the corners of his lips just before he cleared his throat and looked at Siger.

"You know I can't talk about my work, Dad, and Molly respects that," he said calmly. "Some people actually have qualms about probing into one's private matters," he added as he shifted his gaze to Violet with an arch of one brow.

"Those people obviously aren't mothers to such close-mouthed sons," Violet said briskly, then went on to ignore his point completely. "I'll ask again … have you and Molly been able to get together on a regular basis?"

"Violet –"

"For god's sake, Mummy!"

Molly stared at Violet as the two men spoke over each other, and she suddenly understood that Mycroft's mother was simply hoping for confirmation, for reassurance, that he had finally let someone into his life. "Yes," she replied firmly and held Violet's gaze when the older woman's eyes met hers. Molly ignored the men, who had turned to look at her as well. "Mind you, we've only been seeing each other again for a couple of weeks, but Mycroft's been good about making time for me, and I hope … I _believe_ that will continue whenever he's in town and there isn't a crisis requiring him to work round-the-clock," she told Violet, then finally turned to look at him. "Your mother's not being nosy, Mycroft. She just worries about you."

Mycroft started to argue the last point, but instead found himself chewing his lip as he considered Molly's anxious expression. While he'd have preferred she not give his mother such details about their relationship, he couldn't deny their accuracy.

When Mycroft eventually pursed his lips without comment, Molly's gaze shifted to Siger, and she slowly smiled at seeing him studying her so intently, with his chin resting on steepled fingers. "I didn't realize that pose was genetic." When Siger's brows lowered in confusion, she copied his pose and raised her own brows. "I thought this was just a Mycroft and Sherlock thing, but instead they're copying you."

Siger lowered his hands to the table and gave Molly an appreciative smile. "I think they'd both prefer to think they got nothing from dear old dad except maybe my height and long legs."

"Don't forget the good looks," she grinned.

Mycroft sighed. "Molly, please stop flirting with my father," he said dryly as he picked up his teacup. "Dad's blood pressure is already a bit wonky."

She promptly blushed and looked guiltily at Violet. "I didn't mean –"

The older woman gave an exasperated snort. "Just ignore Mycroft. It's nice for Siger to have a pretty young woman about the house."

"I already do," he said and reached across the table for his wife's hand.

"Oh god," Mycroft groaned as he returned the cup to its saucer, then frowned at Molly. _"Now_ see what you've done."

Molly shrugged unconcernedly and smiled happily at Violet. "So … have you thought of something I can do to help with dinner?"


	17. Encore, Part II: Once More With Feeling

_Chapter Summary: When Mycroft and Molly spend Sunday with his parents, he's forced by a meddling but well-intentioned mother to consider Molly's underlying feelings for him. Will confronting the dreaded "sentiment" cause Mycroft to retreat … or could it possibly result in a deepening of their relationship?_

#####

Mycroft was too old, too experienced and far too unsentimental to be disconcerted by the simple act of sharing a meal with Molly and his parents, but he _was_ and that fact in and of itself was _damned_ unsettling. The two hours since they arrived had passed in a blur of conversation and frequent laughter, and Mycroft had participated in both to a certain extent, but he'd mostly watched and listened. The other three were getting on like the proverbial house on fire, and his parents were obviously charmed by Molly's quirky, occasionally macabre sense of humor, while she was just as obviously charmed by his parents … for whatever reason.

When they'd finished their tea earlier and Mycroft was peeling the assigned potatoes (methodically, if unenthusiastically), Molly had first helped Violet prepare the other vegetables for cooking and then leaned over Mycroft's shoulder to take the peeler from one hand and a half-peeled potato from the other. "Let me finish these," she'd said and turned to his father who was working at the sink. "I can finish cleaning the berries as well, Mr. Holmes."

So Mycroft had found himself following his father into the garden, where he'd spent the next twenty minutes or so listening to Siger's plans for expanding the flower beds ….

"I must be trying your patience, son," Siger said as he rose to his feet and brushed off the knees of his trousers. "Gardening has limited appeal for you, if even that," he said, lifting amused eyes to meet Mycroft's. "We should join our ladies anyway. I'm sure Molly's in dire need of a break from being the sole focus of your mother's attention."

Mycroft turned to look at the house thoughtfully, then met his father's gaze with raised brows. "If Molly's been able to withstand Mummy's questions, I may have to offer her a job," he said wryly, then smiled when Siger laughed.

They both sobered, regarding each other more seriously as they shared a moment of mutual understanding. "I'm more pleased than I can express that you brought Molly with you today," Siger said. "She's lovely in every sense of the word and, more importantly, she's kind-hearted. You've needed some warmth in your life for a very long time, son – and you'll be relieved to know that's all I'm going to say about _that."_

Mycroft had been struck anew by how easy-going his father was – remembering how Siger had been a constant source of calmness when the rest of the world, or just his little corner of it, had seemed destined for madness … those times when the workings of his brain were whirring out of control, his thoughts hurtling down previously unknown pathways, his senses continuously, unwittingly, cataloging minute details of people, places and events until he'd felt on the verge of sensory overload, and the buzz and confusion of it all had threatened to burst his skull. His father had always known when that young Mycroft had had a bad day, when the boy had just needed his parents to let him _be_ … and Dad would first place a gentle hand on his shoulder, then assure him that his Dad would be nearby if Mycroft needed to talk … and then the boy had thankfully been allowed to be alone, to be quiet … to lose himself in his books or his music or his theories and calculations. As the years passed and Mycroft gained more control over that constant whirring of his brain, those quiet times he'd still occasionally needed and yearned for were often interrupted by his younger brother despite his parents' attempts to keep Sherlock distracted and busy elsewhere. In more recent years, Mycroft had been aware that from time to time Siger very gently probed for information concerning how his elder son was doing – whether in his private life or otherwise, and no doubt under orders from Violet to learn whatever he could whenever the opportunity arose – but his father was never heavy-handed about it.

Mycroft had silently considered Siger's comments about Molly and then slowly froze in place as he stared unseeingly at his father.

"Mycroft? Son?"

Mycroft had blinked as his gaze focused on his father's concerned expression. He suddenly and unexpectedly realized that he could, and bloody well _would_ , give Siger a significant bit of intelligence to report to his mother. "You know what, Dad? I agree with you," he said evenly, "and that's all _I'm_ going to say about _that."_ He'd then turned abruptly and led the way to the sitting room without giving his father time to respond.

Violet and Molly broke off from their conversation and looked toward the door when the men came in. "What do you think of Siger's plans for the garden, Mykie?"

"Positively blooming," he'd said with a smile, then dropped onto the chair near Molly's end of the sofa and gave her a quick, comprehensive glance to see how she'd fared while being alone with his mother. She'd looked a bit flushed, but not shell-shocked, so he supposed she was doing better than he'd have expected. Over the next hour, Violet had frequently popped into the kitchen and taken Molly with her, leaving Mycroft to visit further with his father. The men had eventually sought refuge behind the morning's papers and left "the ladies" to their chat.

Mycroft's thoughts returned to the present as he slowly chewed a roast potato and briefly closed his eyes to savor the simple perfection of its slightly crunchy exterior and smooth fluffy interior. No matter how many times he'd had it, the pleasure of eating a perfectly cooked roast rib of beef and traditional vegetables, all drenched in the liquid comfort of a smooth, perfectly seasoned gravy, and accompanied by crisp Yorkshire Puddings had never grown stale. He took a sip of the Pauillac Bordeaux he'd bought and pursed his lips, considering that the 2001 was tolerable, but now convinced the 2009 would have been a better choice. As he set his glass down, he smiled to hear Molly echo his earlier thoughts.

"You simply can't beat such a well-prepared traditional roast beef dinner," Molly said appreciatively before taking a slow sip of wine. A few moments later, she set the glass down and grinned at Mycroft before picking up her fork. "After we ate so much last night, I didn't think I could possibly be hungry again for days, but this is all too delicious to resist." She'd turned her head to look at Violet and thus missed Mycroft's pained expression at the opening her comment gave his mother to inquire about their evening out.

It didn't take her long to take advantage of it. "Oh?" Violet ignored the hand Mycroft waved dismissively at her. "Did you go somewhere nice for dinner?"

Molly swallowed the remains of a broccoli floret, then launched into an enthusiastic report about the previous evening. Out of the corner of his eyes, Mycroft saw but chose to ignore that both parents' heads swiveled his way when Molly referred to it as a "date" and identified the restaurant. When Molly eventually sighed happily and stopped to take another bite of carrot, Siger glanced at Violet with an expression that was both reminiscent and regretful.

"Violet and I have always enjoyed the occasions we've dined there, and it's been far too long since we did so," Siger said. "The food is superb and the premises are so comfortably traditional. And good lord – the service! It's simply from a different age when a discreet but personal touch was expected and the word 'service' actually meant something."

As Molly offered more details of their visit, Violet gave Mycroft a significant look at mention of their private booth … and he returned Violet's stare blankly but with a brief, warning shake of his head before his mother could comment. Molly didn't need to know just how highly prized the restaurant's booth seating was or to wonder how he'd arranged for them to have one at such relatively short notice. Mycroft was actually relieved when the conversation turned to Sherlock's doings and Molly's part in some of them, and it wasn't long before Mycroft had to suppress his amusement and an occasional groan at Molly's matter-of-fact observations and their sheer _inappropriateness_ at times for the dinner table.

"… and then John called to complain that I'd given Sherlock the severed head in the first place," Molly said, then looked around the table with a confused frown. "What was Sherlock _supposed_ to do with it? Of _course_ he had to store it in the refrigerator …"

And on and on it went, and his parents simply ate it up.

# # #

Mycroft glanced out the window as he finished scrubbing the last pot and saw Molly crouch down beside his father to study whatever he was pointing to in one of the flower beds.

"Far be it for me to interfere with your personal business, son, but I hope you know what you're doing," Violet said as she took the pot from him and started drying it. "And don't give me that must-placate-Mummy look, Mycroft Holmes."

Mycroft held his tongue with an effort as he dried his hands and focused on the scene outside the window before dropping his eyes and chewing his lip. When he turned to lean against the sink and met Violet's gaze, his expression was wiped free of impatience and any other obvious emotion. "Molly and I have an understanding. We're friends – good friends," he clarified at his mother's skeptical look, but then her expression changed to the overly patient one she'd always used when she thought he or Sherlock was missing something obvious to everyone else. "What?" Even worse was Violet's sympathetic look, and he braced himself not to flinch when she reached up to cup his cheek.

"Mykie …," she said softly, but with an intent look. "That young woman _loves_ you – yes, she _does,"_ Violet insisted. "Do you have any idea of how Molly looks at you when you aren't paying attention? Molly loves you, son, and you need to take care with her. If you're not committed to a long-term relationship, don't let her think you are." She clucked her tongue. "And I wouldn't be saying this if I didn't believe you _are_ committed, Mykie - whether you realize it or not."

Mycroft pressed his palms against his eyes and released a long breath before roughly shoving his fingers through his hair and grabbing hold of the nape of his neck. He took another deep breath and exhaled noisily through his nose as he finally opened his eyes to meet his mother's. "I don't want to talk about this, Mummy," he said firmly, dropping his hands to his sides. His gaze narrowed as he stared at Violet. "Have you been interrogating Molly? Trying to get her to divulge more personal details?"

Violet gave Mycroft her best wounded look. "'Interrogate?' We simply had a friendly chat," she said smoothly, but then her gaze turned intent again. "Not talking about it won't change facts."

Mycroft stared at her, mouth tight, brows knitted in a frown, but after a few moments his eyes turned cool and his face smoothed into the impassive expression that made her heart ache for him. "Just don't meddle, Mummy," he said evenly, "and try to remember what you said to me at the Savoy not long ago. If I recall correctly, and I do, you and Dad were happy enough to encourage me to spend 'quality' time with someone when our schedules permit. You had no problem with a no-strings relationship then, so don't start trying to push me and Molly into something we aren't ready for now." Their gazes locked for several more moments until they heard Siger's voice. Mycroft finally broke eye contact and looked away as the back door opened and his father and Molly came in, still talking about Siger's plans for the garden.

# # #

"I should have warned you about my mother," Mycroft said, stepping aside as he waved Molly ahead of him into the last room on their mini-tour of the cottage. "She's an effective interrogator and can wheedle information out of you before you know what's happening."

Molly's steps faltered for a moment before she continued across the bedroom to trail her fingers over the spines of tightly packed volumes in a built-in bookcase. "Your mother's been lovely to me," she said, then turned to prop her bottom against the desk. "Both of your parents have been."

Molly regarded Mycroft with appreciative eyes as he walked across to a chest of drawers beside the window. She'd been amused and charmed in equal measure when Mycroft had put his clothing to rights just before they sat down to dinner. He'd carefully rolled down his sleeves, refastened his cuffs, and then donned his jacket and straightened his tie. It had been adorably old-fashioned and terribly _sexy,_ she thought as she ran her eyes from his head to his feet. She supposed the charcoal jacket in a fine-wale corduroy, grey cotton shirt, and darker grey corduroy trousers were Mycroft's idea of country wear. She just hoped he didn't think her white blouse, black trousers and peach-colored cardigan had let the side down.

He glanced at her in the mirror over the chest of drawers and grimaced as he held up a squat tubular figurine, white with a silver domed top, its awkward mechanical arms and feet hanging from the sides and bottom. "I'm surprised my mother hasn't tossed this out by now."

Molly pushed herself away from the desk and walked over to take the figurine. She turned it round and round, then carefully fingered the wind-up stick before glancing up at him. "I read somewhere that vintage Star Wars items like this are worth quite a bit," she said, then gently set the toy back in place. "I had no idea you were interested in sci-fi as a child. What other secrets could I learn if I checked out your room more closely?"

He just snorted as she stepped around him. Molly turned the latch and pushed the window open, taking a deep breath of the fresh country air as she leaned out to enjoy the view of the front garden and fields beyond. She sighed contentedly and bent lower, arching her back as she rested her crossed arms on the wide windowsill. "It's so beautiful here," she said … then glanced sideways when Mycroft's right hand pressed flat against the sill next to her elbow. She momentarily stopped breathing when he stooped over her to look out the window – not quite touching, but her body was nevertheless suffused with warmth from the close proximity of his … and then a quiver ran through her when he rested his free hand on the small of her back.

"Although the view is indeed enticing," he said softly beside her ear while his hand slowly and very deliberately slid over the upraised curve of her bottom, "I'm certain you had no intention of seducing me when you presented it. Not with my parents downstairs," he added as her body went rigid.

Mycroft straightened and stepped away, and Molly swung round, staring at him wide-eyed and slack-jawed. _"Mycroft Holmes!_ I would _never_ –" She broke off when he didn't try to hide his amusement as he stroked one finger almost absent-mindedly down his cheek before dropping his hand and sliding it into his trouser pocket to mirror the other one. When he lifted both brows and proceeded to rock on his heels ever so nonchalantly, she swiftly moved forward and tightly wrapped her arms around his waist. "But you're not getting away without a kiss," she said and lifted her chin in invitation, watching him from under half-lowered eyelids, a challenging gleam in her eyes.

Mycroft slowly lowered his mouth to cover hers, kissing her softly and with every intention to keep it brief … until Molly's lips parted and she licked his. Without thinking, he pulled her flush against him and kissed her more deeply, more passionately, and then it was far too late for brevity. Their lips separated just long enough to draw a ragged breath before they came back together, tongues delving deep, sliding against each other … then Mycroft's lips were moving across her cheek and down her throat. As he brushed some hair aside with his chin, his eyelids partially lifted and the open window came into view … and he froze before pulling away with a jerk. He stared at Molly's bright eyes, flushed cheeks and swollen lips for several tense moments - hearing their quick breaths, feeling his heart thump in his chest - then abruptly grabbed her hand and towed her out of the bedroom and down the stairs, leaving her standing in the front hall as he strode to the door of the small sitting room.

"I'm taking Molly to see more of the garden," he said when his parents looked up from their books. He turned without giving them time to comment, then quickly strode back the way he came, ushered Molly through the front door and didn't stop until they reached an oak bench placed in a shady spot between two flowering crab apple trees on the far side of the cottage. "Sit," he said curtly, then grimaced and raised his hand in a placating gesture. "Please have a seat, Molly. How about a cool drink? I saw a jug of fresh lemonade in the refrigerator. Or if you'd prefer a cocktail -"

"Lemonade sounds good." She studied his expression for a few moments, then stretched her arms out, tilted her head over the back of the bench, and closed her eyes as she breathed in the sweet scent of the pink and white blossoms. "What a lovely spot," she said with a contented little smile.

Mycroft watched the slow rise and fall of Molly's breasts and the movement of her throat as she swallowed, then pivoted on his heel. "I'll be back shortly."

# # #

Mycroft was alarmed that he'd forgotten his surroundings long enough to go so far with Molly, but even more so that he'd over-reacted and momentarily lost his cool to the point of getting into such a flap. It was _absurd_ … he was _not_ that person. While he and Molly had been discreet and neither of them wanted their private moments to be on public display, anyone sufficiently close to them to be aware that they were seeing each other would understandably assume sexual activity was part of their relationship. As he opened the refrigerator door, he paused to consider the matter in respect to his parents. No … it wasn't simply _absurd_ to be so discomfited by the prospect of them seeing Molly when she'd obviously just come out of a passionate clinch. _It was both banal and childish,_ he thought, then drew a long breath as he reached for the lemonade, placed the jug on the table, and headed to the sitting room.

# # #

A light breeze caused rays of dappled sunlight to filter through the leaves of the crab apple trees and sprinkled bits of sweet blossoms over Molly where she lolled rather inelegantly on the oak bench. She brushed her hand over her face while glancing around the garden with a contented sigh … until her gaze drifted over the side of the cottage. She squeezed her eyes shut and suppressed a groan as she lifted her feet to the edge of the bench and dropped her head onto her knees, trying not to panic at the thought of what she'd revealed to Mycroft's mother earlier when they'd been left alone in the kitchen.

When the men went out into the garden, Molly had turned off the kitchen tap and set the berry-filled colander aside to drip on the draining board and then glanced curiously at Violet in the ensuing silence. Her smile had faded as the older woman continued to regard her with a serious expression on her face. "Is something wrong, Mrs. Holmes?"

"On the contrary," Violet had said, then tilted her head to the side. "You love him very much, don't you, my dear?"

 _"_ _Wh-what?"_ Molly's face had turned red as she quickly looked toward the kitchen door and back at Violet. "No! I _don't_ – I mean, um … I-I-I don't know what you mean, Mrs. Holmes."

Violet had simply raised her brows and stared steadily at the younger woman until Molly finally dropped her chin toward her chest with a defeated sigh. She hadn't looked up again until Violet put an arm around her and ushered her out of the kitchen and into the large sitting room.

 _Oh god,_ Molly groaned inwardly as she recalled how she'd admitted her feelings to Mycroft's mother and immediately assured Violet how _perfectly fine_ it was that Mycroft didn't feel the same – that it was _absolutely wonderful_ for them to be such good friends – that she was _utterly content_ to be with him when his busy schedule allowed.

Molly suddenly heard Violet talking nearby and dropped her feet to the ground just as Mycroft and his parents walked around the corner of the house. Mycroft came toward her carrying a jug of lemonade and four glasses, and Molly quickly stretched to drag a side table closer before he set down the tray. When he returned her smile with sweet good humor, she fell in love with him all over again.

# # #

It was almost eight o'clock when Violet and Siger saw their guests off with warm hugs and kisses, which Molly readily returned and Mycroft suffered with relatively good grace. At the car, he introduced Molly to their new driver, Peter (who would be off duty for a week once he got them back to London – not that Mycroft saw any point to sharing such incidental details), and then followed her into the back seat. The trip home was a quiet one, with both of them feeling somewhat spent and sluggish after a day so filled with food and drink, fresh air and (sometimes uncomfortably personal) conversations. Molly had dozed off by the time they reached Guildford, and Mycroft slid his arm around her and tugged her closer until her head was resting against the side of his chest. He answered and made several calls, talking softly and occasionally studying Molly's sleeping face in the dim light ... at one point lifting several stray hairs off her cheek and carefully tucking them behind her ear. He finally leaned his head against the back of the seat and allowed himself to fall into a light doze.

Mycroft sat up when they neared the flat, but didn't wake Molly until Peter made the turn onto her street. A few minutes later, he followed her out of the car, then leaned down to the driver's open window. "Give me ten minutes."

"You really don't need to see me to the flat," Molly said as he turned back to her.

Mycroft simply lifted his brows, slid an arm around her and ushered her across the pavement and through the street door. "I may be free Wednesday night if that suits you," he said as they went up the stairs. "And perhaps you could come to mine after work Friday?" At her nod, he added, "And stay over?"

"I'd like that," Molly said as she unlocked her door. "Maybe we can get in a couple of swims."

Mycroft followed her into the flat, helped her out of her jacket and hung it up, and then, without any hesitation, slipped his arm around her and tilted her backward as his mouth lowered to hers and his free hand slipped through her hair. As the kiss deepened, Molly slid her hands up his chest and cradled his head between her palms, holding him still. "Are you trying to start something," she mumbled against his lips.

He lifted his head enough for their eyes to meet. "Just saying good night," he murmured, then kissed her again, very softly, before releasing her. "Properly."

"Damn it, Mycroft," she huffed.

"I'll make it up to you," he said smoothly and with a roguish glint in his eyes, then his lips slowly curved in a lopsided smile.

"I'll hold you to that," she grumbled as she opened the door and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Be gone then, you tease."

Molly watched Mycroft stride down the corridor - no, _swagger_ , she thought … there was most definitely a touch of swagger going on there - and wondered if anyone else had ever caught a glimpse of this playfully amorous side of him. Could this be _her_ Mycroft and hers alone? All Molly knew for sure was she loved him and didn't know how much longer she could keep that secret to herself.

 _And Mrs. Holmes_ , she recalled with a wince.


	18. Transition

_Chapter Summary: A last-minute trip changes Mycroft's and Molly's plans … and secrets are revealed, sometimes from unexpected sources_

#####

 _~Tuesday morning~_

"I'm going for a coffee. Do you want one?"

"Mmm."

John Watson huffed in annoyance at the other man's inattention, then went out the lab door … and immediately came back through it and hurried across the room to Sherlock's work station. "Oh god - what's _he_ doing at Barts?"

"Hmm?"

"Your _brother_ – what's _he_ want?" John hissed out of the corner of his mouth as the door was pushed inward and Mycroft stepped into the opening.

"Not my problem," Sherlock said absentmindedly, without looking up.

John watched intently as Mycroft glanced around the room, that steely blue gaze pausing for a moment on the other two men, then moving on with a flick of his brows. John released a long breath when Mycroft stepped back into the corridor and the lab door slowly closed behind him. "What do you think he wants?"

"Not us." Sherlock finally raised his head and looked at John curiously. "You're actually concerned about my brother … how odd," he murmured and glanced toward the door before bending over the microscope again. "He's looking for Molly," he added in a tone of bored indifference.

"Oh, Molly - of course," John muttered, then his eyes widened. "Why _Molly?_ What's she done? Is she in danger?"

"More than you know," Sherlock said under his breath, then, "Hand me that slide."

# # #

Molly looked up when the morgue door swung open … and stared, mouth agape, when Mycroft walked in. She pushed her goggles onto her forehead and carefully set the bone saw aside. "Not that I'm unhappy to see you, but what are you _doing_ here?"

"Molly," he greeted her calmly as he came to a halt on the other side of the post mortem table, then looked from her to the body and raised his brows. "Is this a bad time?"

However inappropriate the setting, Molly couldn't help but grin at his wry tone. "It's all right – I haven't started yet," she said, removing the goggles and tossing them beside the saw. "Give me five minutes." She paused as she reached for the zipper on the black bag. "Do you want to wait in my office?"

"Go ahead. I'll wait for you here," he said, then watched as Molly carefully arranged the bag before zipping it closed and using her foot to unlock the wheels on the cart. He stepped closer when she started the cart rolling. "May I help?"

"Thanks, but I've got it," she said over her shoulder. "I'm used to shifting bodies … and isn't _that_ a bizarre thing for you to hear me say." She grinned again at Mycroft's snort and continued to the cooling unit. Once finished there, she removed and tossed her gloves into a medical waste bin, then shrugged off her lab coat after noticing blood on the cuff and dropped it into the laundry bin before crossing to the sink to wash her hands. "Are you here on official business?"

"No," he said as he came up behind her, then glanced over his shoulder before bending to kiss the cheek she tilted toward him. "I need to talk to you."

Molly gave him a sidelong glance as she dried her hands. "Is there a problem?"

"A change of plans," he said, following behind as she crossed the morgue and went out the door. After a silent trip to her office, Mycroft stepped aside, then followed Molly in and shut the door. When she turned to face him, he grasped her hips and pulled her close as he leaned against the door. "First things first," he murmured before lowering his head to kiss her … then shifted his hands to the small of her back as their mouths moved slowly over each other's. Molly pressed closer and curved a hand around his neck, lifting onto her toes to deepen the kiss, and his lips immediately parted, one hand sliding up her ribs to cup her breast. One slow kiss followed another until Mycroft finally took a firm hold of Molly's waist and gently set her away from him. "Molly – I have to go," he said huskily.

"I know you need to get back to the office –"

"No, I have to get to the airport," he clarified, "almost as soon as I leave here."

"Oh." Molly straightened her shirt as she stepped away from him. "I suppose you can't say where you're –"

"No."

"Do you know when you'll be returning?"

"Late Friday, most likely."

"That quickly?"

 _"_ _Mmm."_ Mycroft straightened and reached into an inner pocket of his jacket. "I wanted to give you this," he said, pressing a cool piece of metal into her hand. "You'll need a personal security code as well. The number should be something significant enough to remember without writing it down, but nothing obvious."

Molly stared at the house key resting on her palm and concentrated on breathing normally. "What about …," she paused for a moment before suggesting a code, then looked up when he didn't reply. "That's –"

"I know what it is," he said evenly, and Molly slowly flushed at the look he gave her. "I'll have your code added to my security program today. You'll be able to enter and leave the house freely by tonight."

They stared at each other in silence for several moments, and suddenly Molly couldn't stand to wait any longer. She had to tell him. "Mycroft, I, um –"

"I'm sorry, my dear," he broke in, "but whatever it is, can we talk about it later? I really do need to go."

"Of course." There'd be plenty of laters for secrets to be revealed, she thought.

"I'll let you know if my return will be delayed," he said and briefly brushed his lips over hers before stepping aside to open the door and pass through it. He glanced at Molly as she fell into step beside him. "You don't have to show me out."

"I want to," she insisted and slipped her hand around his elbow. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," he said and proved it by bending his arm and pressing her hand closer to his side.

They said nothing more until they went through the outside door and were on the pavement. Molly glanced at the familiar car parked at the curb and dropped her hand. "Take care, Mycroft," she said softly, holding his gaze. "I'll be waiting when you get home." For one tense moment, she thought he was going to bend to her again, but instead he lifted his chin, turned away and strode the few paces to the open car door and climbed in. Molly smiled at Simon as he got into the driver's seat, then her gaze shifted back to the rear door … and her smile widened when the window smoothly lowered several inches and Mycroft's eyes met hers. His lips briefly curved and he lifted a hand, then the window rose between them as the car pulled swiftly away. Molly watched until it merged into other traffic, then walked back to her office. Once there, she unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk, removed her handbag, and carefully worked Mycroft's key onto her key ring.

As for the security code, she'd never forget the date that she and Mycroft were first together.

Apparently, neither would he.

 _#####_

 _~Wednesday evening~_

As her hand dropped from the knocker, Molly glanced around at several people passing behind her on the pavement, then turned back with a smile when the door opened and Mrs. Hudson appeared within its frame.

"Oh, hello, dear," the sprightly landlady said with a pleasant smile.

"Hi, Mrs. Hudson. Is Sherlock home?"

"Go on up, dear. I'm sure he'll be happy to see you."

Before Molly had even reached the first landing, Sherlock proved his landlady wrong. "Oh _god_ – what now?" He groaned loudly as she continued up the stairs. "What did I tell you?

"Sherlock –"

He glanced at her as she came through the open door, then lowered his head and adjusted the microscope. "Oh no you don't, Molly Hooper," he said quickly. "I told you … no confidences." He looked up again and scowled. "Do _not_ tell me anything. I don't want to hear it."

"But Sherlock –"

 _"_ _No!"_

"Mycroft left for … your mother got me to … I told her … do you think she'll –"

"Are you suddenly incapable of completing a sentence?"

Molly ignored Sherlock's rudeness. "We visited your parents last Sunday, and your mother got me to …," Molly stopped again. "Um, do you think she'd tell Mycroft something I told her in confidence?"

"What – that you love my brother … however mind-boggling that fact might be?"

 _"_ _W-w-what?"_

An epic eye roll from Sherlock, then: "Anyone with eyes – anyone _without_ eyes – could deduce how you feel." He gave a disgusted snort. "Except for brother dear apparently. He can be willfully blind sometimes."

"But he – I just … I don't … _he_ doesn't -"

"Don't be absurd, Molly. Of _course_ Mycroft loves you – or whatever approximation of that sentiment he's capable of feeling," he grimaced. "For _god's_ sake – my brother was in a bind to catch a plane at short notice and yet he took time to find you at Barts?" He snorted derisively. "For brother dear, that's a statement of devotion."

"But –"

"What more proof do you need?" Sherlock stared at her impatiently for another moment, then bent his head and waved a hand in dismissal. "Good luck getting him to ever say it to you."

"If only I could be sure –"

Sherlock glanced up with an affronted expression on his face. "Just whom do you think you're talking to?"

A brief silence, then: "Oh my god, Sherlock … do you truly believe –"

"Go away, Molly. I'm busy."

"All right, all right - I'm going," she said as she grabbed her handbag, then, _"Thank you, Sherlock!"_

"Oh for – _get off!"_ The gentleness with which he broke Molly's sudden stranglehold on his neck was in stark contrast to the harshness of his words. "Now go away." Molly hurried out the door grinning and ran light-footed down the stairs, then grinned more widely at the parting shot he bellowed just as she hopped off the bottom step. _"AND DON'T COME BACK!"_

 _#####_

 _~Early Friday Evening~_

Molly exited Green Park Station, hailed a taxi, and quickly climbed in when one drew to a stop in front of her. The extravagance made her wince but it was only a short trip to Mycroft's and she was self-conscious about arriving on his street for the first time by foot. She was also unsure about having the driver take her directly to the front door, but assumed Mycroft would have informed her if doing that was a security concern. In the end, she exited the taxi outside his house and quickly ran up the steps before stopping abruptly to study the security panel. She set down her duffle bag, glanced over her shoulder, then carefully punched in her code while using her free hand to block anyone else's view – even that of any MI6 sharpshooter who might be watching from a roof three houses' distant. A nervous giggle broke from her, then she punched in the last digit, breath held, half expecting alarms to go off. When the panel indicated she was cleared for access, she quickly grabbed her bag and hurried inside once she unlocked the door. Considering how jumpy she must have appeared, she wouldn't be surprised if a nosy neighbor had informed the police.

"Don't be ridiculous," she muttered, then grimaced to think she'd paid no real attention to the front façade of the house – a view she'd not seen before – and all because of fanciful cloak and danger imaginings. She adjusted her grip on her duffle bag, then walked down the front hall, passing Mycroft's office on the left and the small sitting room on the right … and heard unexpected noises when she reached the base of the staircase. "Hello?" She relaxed but was surprised when Mrs. Bell came out of the kitchen.

"Good evening, Dr. Hooper," the housekeeper said politely, her eyes briefly lowering to the bag Molly was holding. "I've been expecting you."

"Good evening, Mrs. Bell." Molly shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Um, I'll just take my things to – _upstairs,"_ she said, trying desperately to keep from blushing.

"Would you like some help?"

"Um, no thank you, Mrs. Bell."

The older woman half turned and lifted a hand toward the kitchen. "Since Mr. Holmes has been out of town for a few days, I've been preparing some meals that can be re-heated over the weekend. There's a steak and kidney pie that should be done in about twenty minutes if you're interested."

"That's sounds wonderful," Molly said. "I'll be back down after …" She waved her hand vaguely toward the ceiling.

"All right, Dr. Hooper. I'll see you in a bit."

Mycroft hadn't told her the housekeeper might still be there, she thought as she stepped into the lift, but he might not have considered she needed to be warned. He probably took her presence during the week for granted.

# # #

Molly arranged the few toiletries she'd brought on the vanity opposite the one she knew Mycroft used, hung her sleepshirt and dressing gown on a nearby hook, then returned to the bedroom and placed her iPod and the book she was currently reading on the bed table and her handbag and slippers on the floor by the bed. She looked around, then left her duffle in the corner near the bed. She wasn't sure where she should put her things and certainly didn't want to move anything in his dressing room.

# # #

"Mr. Holmes is quite handy around the kitchen," Mrs. Bell said as she started the dishwasher, "but I'm sure he'll be tired after his trip so I wanted to leave the refrigerator well-stocked."

Molly swallowed the last bit of steak and looked up when the housekeeper stopped in the archway between kitchen and breakfast nook. "This was delicious," she said with a smile. "Thank you."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Dr. Hooper. There's plenty left for both of you and, as I said, several other meals in the refrigerator that are ready to be reheated." She glanced around the kitchen and nodded to herself. "I'll be leaving then. If you or Mr. Holmes need me –"

"We should be fine, Mrs. Bell. Enjoy your weekend."

Molly listened as the lift took the housekeeper downstairs to her flat. When the sound of the motor faded, Molly stopped the dishwasher to add her plate and cutlery, then re-filled her wineglass and took the lift in the opposite direction. She got out on the third floor, went up the spiral staircase to the roof, then pushed the heavy steel door open after entering her security code. It was a glorious, spring evening after a typically rainy day, and she drew a deep breath before setting her glass down on a table. She glanced around before pulling the cover off one of the loungers and shifting it to face westward. After retrieving her glass, she dropped onto the lounger, stretched out her legs with a sigh, and sipped her wine while enjoying the setting sun.

Molly eventually returned to the kitchen to wash her wineglass, then wandered around the townhouse for a while, peeking into rooms, re-familiarizing herself with the layout of the floors. At half past ten, she returned to Mycroft's suite and had a long soak in the bathtub and washed her hair. After drying her hair, she looked at herself in the mirror and considered her choice of sleepwear. A pale pink cotton sleepshirt wasn't exactly sexy, but normally Mycroft didn't seem to pay any attention to what she wore – and when it came to bed, he preferred her bare skin to anything else. Molly pressed a hand to her stomach when she felt an inner stirring at the thought. _Not long now._

 _#####_

 _~Late Friday Night~_

Mycroft slid several files into his briefcase and snapped it shut before glancing around the table where their small contingent had been having a debriefing. "I believe that's it," he said evenly as he rose to his feet and turned toward Lady Smallwood.

"Someone seems in a hurry to leave." The unexpectedly personal comment – and particularly the mocking tone to it - caused half the people in attendance to freeze in place, trying not to draw any unwanted attention to themselves. "Is the little lady waiting for you at home, Mycroft?"

Mycroft's gaze briefly fell on the three men sitting so stiffly on the other side of the table, causing them to quickly gather their things and exit the room. He then pointedly lifted his brows at Lady Smallwood, who met his eyes with a level stare. His gaze visibly hardened before he turned toward the last member of their group.

"You have something more to say, Edwin?" Their eyes met and held until the other man's gaze dropped to the papers set before him. "No? I strongly suggest you refrain from making such comments in the future either to or about me or anyone personally associated with me." He started to turn without waiting for a response, but paused to add, "If I hear that you or your representatives have made any inquiries, directly or indirectly, related to Dr. Hooper beyond what's already in her file, or have otherwise attempted to contact her in any manner, you'll have to answer to me."

A charged silence continued until Sir Edwin broke it with an unconvincing chuckle. "You're over-reacting, Mycroft," he said in a conciliatory tone. "It was a joke – admittedly a lame one."

Mycroft's gaze never wavered. "Do you understand me, Edwin?"

"Gentlemen," Lady Smallwood said chidingly, hiding her relief when Mycroft turned toward her. She knew him well enough to understand that, in doing so, he had dismissed Sir Edwin from further consideration – at least for the moment. "There's one other matter I'd like to discuss," she said, then added with a sidelong glance at Mycroft, "Another twenty minutes, max." She looked at the security guard at the far end of the room and raised her voice. "Would you please ask the others to come back in?"

#####

 _~Midnight and Then Some~_

Molly was still reading at half past twelve when the sound of the lift broke the silence. She hadn't heard Mycroft come in, but knew it was him … unless some crazed killer had breached his security. She actually felt a frisson of fear as she crossed the room and grinned to herself at her over-active imagination.

Mycroft strode out of the lift, carrying a suit bag in each hand, and briefly paused when he saw Molly waiting just inside his open door.

"Hey," she said. _How original._

"Hey yourself," he said, coming to a stop in front of her. Molly hesitated, not sure how he might feel now that her "invasion" of his private space in his absence had actually occurred. Her fingers were unconsciously twisting the sides of her sleepshirt and the sole of one foot was rubbing the top of the other, but Mycroft didn't need those outward signs of nervousness to sense her uncertainty. "I hope you've made yourself at home," he said softly, dropping his bags as he opened his arms … then grunted from the impact when she slammed against him and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. He rubbed his hands briskly, encouragingly, over her back and after a few moments she loosened her hold so she could see his face.

"You look tired, Mycroft."

"I am a bit," he admitted, lifting a hand to brush some hair off her face.

"Are you hungry? Mrs. Bell made some –"

"No … all I really want is a shower and then bed. To sleep," he said, then bent to give her a quick kiss. "But give me a few hours and I'll be ready … _not_ to sleep."

Molly's cheeks turned rosy. "Would you like me to wash your back?"

"Not this time." He glanced past her at the bed. "Your book's waiting."

"Let me at least –" Molly quickly stooped to pick up his bags, ignoring his exasperated sigh. "Where do you want these?"

He waved a hand toward the dressing room and followed her in, shrugging out of his jacket and moving past her to hang it on the valet stand … while she set the bags just inside the door, straightened and propped her back against the jamb. Mycroft finished unbuttoning his waistcoat and started on his shirt buttons, then paused and looked at her for a moment before raising his brows. His eyes brightened with amusement as he let his shirt fall open and started to release the fastening on his trousers.

Molly's eyes lifted to his, and she flushed right on cue. "I'll, um, leave you to it then," she said and immediately fled, so missed the way Mycroft smiled to himself as he sat down to remove his shoes and socks. Once he'd done so, he rested his elbows on his thighs, hands dangling between his knees, and looked at the open door thoughtfully … for a few moments considering … then shook his head and rose to his feet to finish undressing.

# # #

Molly was sitting up with her book propped on raised knees when Mycroft came through the dressing room door, wearily crawled onto the bed and fell face down on his pillow with a tired groan and a gruff _"g'night."_ She studied his bare back for a few moments, then leaned over to thumb a drop of water from the nape of his neck and press a light kiss between his shoulder blades … and cursed silently when his muscles tensed and he mumbled her name while shifting as if to push himself up. _"Shhh,"_ she quickly whispered, brushing her hand over his head soothingly, " _shhh_ \- go to sleep, Mycroft." She kept stroking his hair until he relaxed again, then she twisted to switch off the lamp and reached for the covers, pulling the duvet up and over them. She took a deep breath as she cuddled closer and wrapped her arm around his waist with a contented sigh. Within ten minutes, she followed him into sleep …

… and woke up at half past five, needing the loo. Without opening her eyes, she scooted to the edge of the bed and promptly stumbled onto the floor with a dull thud. "Well … _shit,"_ she muttered under her breath when she'd accounted for all four limbs.

"Molly?"

"Uh-huh."

"Are you all right?"

Molly heard the rustling of bedclothes as Mycroft sat up. "Other than feeling like a prize idiot, yes," she grumbled as she pushed herself to her feet and rubbed her bottom. "Go back to sleep. I'll just be a few minutes," she said, then carefully made her way through Mycroft's dressing room and into the ensuite using the dim light filtering through the window coverings. When she exited the loo a few minutes later, she saw Mycroft doing the same thing at the far end of the bathroom and tugged her sleepshirt down her thighs as she walked toward him. She couldn't resist running her eyes over his bare chest, following the chest hair as it tapered into a narrow central strip at the point where his pajama bottoms had slipped low on his belly. _Down girl_ , she told herself fiercely as Mycroft bent over to splash water on his face. "Do you feel better?"

"It's nothing that a few more hours of sleep won't fix," he said, drying his face with a hand towel as he turned to lean against the edge of the vanity, crossing his ankles as his gaze slowly dropped down her body. "Did you fall off the step?"

"No, I forgot where we were and how high the bed is and slid off the side," she said, smiling ruefully as she rubbed her hip.

He returned the towel to its hook, then straightened with a low grunt. "Are you ready to go back to bed?" He padded barefoot toward her, then slung his arm around her waist and gently rubbed her hip. "How sore is it?"

Molly wrinkled her nose as she glanced up at him. "My hip's fine – really. Just my pride was bruised."

They passed through the dressing room, then crawled into bed from opposite sides before meeting in the middle. Molly stretched out on her back, then rolled over, smiling when Mycroft shifted closer and aligned his body along hers. She sighed when his hand slid to her stomach but was surprised when he worked his other arm under her and then flattened both hands, fingers laced, on her belly. After a few moments, he leaned over her shoulder, told her to hold on, and suddenly rolled onto his back, taking her with him. Molly wiggled and huffed a laugh at finding herself lying on top of him, her back to his front, and cocked her head to the side. "What are you doing?"

Mycroft's cheek brushed hers as he lifted his head to kiss the side of her neck. "I assume that's a rhetorical question," he murmured in her ear, causing a shiver to race through her body. "Relax for me," he urged, grasping her waist to slide her up his body until their heads were level, then dragged her sleepshirt up and over her head before shifting her a fraction higher. "Let your head rest on the pillow."

Molly did as he said, tilting her head backwards over his shoulder, and felt heat rise from her core when she saw how the arch of her upper body displayed her breasts and torso … like a figurehead on the prow of a pirate's ship … something Mycroft was quick to exploit. His hands smoothed over the plane of her stomach and up her ribcage to skim over her breasts, his palms tracing circles over them, before reversing course to her belly. His fingers drew circles around her navel, then dipped into it and moved lower still, tracing lines across the sensitive skin over her hip joints … back and forth from the outside of each hip to her inner thighs … moving upward again to rub circles over the soft skin of her belly, his fingers pressing firmly against her taut stomach muscles, then slowly sliding up her torso … pausing when a sudden quake shook her body. She twisted the sheet between her fingers, then scrabbled for something to hold on to until she finally stretched her arms overhead and tucked her hands, palms up, under their heads. Her breasts felt swollen, her nipples drawn almost painfully tight, so much so that she groaned with relief when he covered her breasts with his palms, cupping them and pressing against her, then firmly massaging them, catching and squeezing her nipples between his index and middle fingers. Molly's body was stretched tautly over him, from her head pressed hard on his pillow to the arches of her feet curving inward over his shins.

"Mycroft –" She moaned, then twisted her head to the side and gasped against his throat. "Not like this - I want you inside me."

"Soon," he murmured, squeezing and gently tugging on her nipples as she strained against him and her chest rose and fell with sharp inhalations. He pinched her nipples and rhythmically rolled them between his thumbs and forefingers in time with her gasps, then flattened his palms over her breasts and circled them again before sliding his hands back down her torso.

"Mycroft, please," she panted, squirming restlessly _._

 _"_ _Shhh,_ just a few more minutes," he murmured as his fingers finally brushed through her short curls and stroked the moist flesh between her thighs. Molly's feverish writhing stilled as she focused on what his hand was doing and opened her legs wider, bending her knees and bracing her feet flat against the bed as she tilted her hips upward … crying out when he stiffened his fingers and rubbed them along her cleft, gently separating the slick folds and pressing inward. She gave a muffled exclamation, flexing her fingers under their heads as she turned her face toward him, moaning incoherently against the side of his head when his fingers probed deeper, stroking firmly, drawing more sounds of pleasure from her. He murmured encouragement … praising the wet softness of her flesh against his fingers, the warm smoothness of her inner walls as he slid a third finger deep inside her. He ran his left hand back up her torso and cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb back and forth, back and forth over her nipple, then took it between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed it … tugged on it … rolled it … while the fingers of his right hand stroked deeper, even firmer, more methodically between her thighs, the wet sucking noises increasing as Molly circled her hips and lifted higher against his hand, straining … straining … then abruptly freezing before she collapsed on him, her body shaking, muscles quivering, breasts heaving. Her breath caught on a moan when he slowly withdrew his fingers … reluctantly leaving her silky heat and wet, pulsating depths … and slid his palms over her body to cover her breasts. She finally released a long breath and seemed to melt bonelessly over him.

Mycroft could no longer ignore the tension in his own body and for a few moments feared he'd come without any direct stimulation. He smoothed his palms from her breasts, to her midriff, pausing over her belly … still feeling faint internal quivering … and slid lower to brush his fingers from side to side over the thin, extra-sensitive skin where her torso met her thighs … back and forth, back and forth … then eventually flattened his hands on her stomach and waited.

It wasn't long before Molly stirred and lifted her head. "Mycroft –" She was so close that their faces brushed when he turned his head toward her. "What about you?"

"Don't mind me," he said dryly, his breathing deepening when she shifted as if to get up. "Here, let me help –" He broke off since Molly obviously needed no assistance. She simply bent her legs under her on either side of him and sat straight up on his stomach in one smooth movement. He felt a bit envious of her flexibility, then forgot that and drew a sharp breath when she firmly grasped his cock.

Molly hesitated, then looked at him over her shoulder, brows raised questioningly. "Do you want me to –"

"Whatever you want, but I'm not going to last long," he warned. "There may come a gusher if you're not careful."

Her head lowered as she drew her fists slowly up his shaft, but the rough noise he made in his throat caused her to change tactics ... to instead climb off him and lift herself onto all fours before giving him a sidelong glance. Mycroft's eyes held hers for one charged moment before he quickly pushed himself to his knees and carefully shifted into position behind her, grasping her hip with one hand as he took hold of his cock with the other, teasingly rubbing the head along her cleft, fitting himself between her moist folds, before slowly penetrating her. She arched her back as he slid further into her, moaning low in her throat, gasping as he flexed his hips and drove inward to the hilt with one hard thrust. Molly's hips swiveled in a tight circle and she deliberately squeezed her internal muscles … the warm wet grip of her body tightening around him … and he fought against a too-quick end to the pleasure of their joining. "Be still for a moment – please, Molly," he said, more grimly than he intended. She froze, which only tightened her muscles more … and he huffed a gruff laugh under his breath. _God._

Molly grunted as he slowly withdrew, inch by inch, then drove forcefully back into her. She arched her spine even further and tilted her hips higher, pushing against him. "Don't hold back," she panted.

Mycroft finally let himself go … the slapping of flesh and muffled groans filling his ears as they rocked together. He was hovering on the edge, so close to coming, and he ground his teeth in an attempt to further delay the climax.

"Don't worry about me," she said again over her shoulder. He didn't know whether to consider that a challenge or to accept it at face value since he'd already taken care of her. Without giving himself time for second thoughts, he abruptly pulled out of her and caught her to him, urging her over and onto her back. "W-w-what are you _doing,_ Mycroft!"

"I want to see your face," he panted. Molly sank back onto the bed and reached for his shoulders as she encircled his hips with her legs and he carefully re-positioned himself before driving into her, thrusting deep … propping himself on his forearms, eyes locked with hers as his hips flexed, pumping steadily, then finally breaking rhythm, moving faster and more erratically as he lifted himself onto straightened arms and bore down, his pubic bone grinding against her mound. A moment more, two, then he groaned low, the raspy rumbling increasing in volume as he came explosively … muscles contracting, hips jerking spasmodically, unconsciously … the pleasure jolting through him, the liquid flow pushing through painfully sensitive tissues as his mind went blank and he emptied himself in bursts of heat deep within Molly … whose eyes and mouth suddenly opened wide as she gasped and her fingers dug into him, her muscles trembling, her core clenching and pulsating as another orgasm rippled like waves throughout her body.

# # #

Molly was first to regain her senses or to wake up – she wasn't sure which – and wrinkled her nose, feeling amazingly relaxed but also sweaty and sticky and itchy and completely, deliciously encompassed by Mycroft. They'd lost consciousness or fallen straight asleep (whichever it was) - _after fucking each other's brains out,_ she thought with a snort - and he'd collapsed on top of her … for once without apologizing ... something she'd been quite happy about at the time. She normally loved the feeling of his weight pressing down on her, but his chest hair was tickling her with each breath, her thighs were itching where one of his was thrown over them, her _belly_ was itching where their middles were stuck together – quite literally perhaps - and although it wasn't an emergency yet, she could certainly use the loo. Plus, she really felt the need to sneeze. Even so, she didn't want to wake him.

A few minutes later, she laughed aloud at his first mumbled word … one that pretty well summed up the situation, she thought ... as well as accurately describing what they'd done to each other.

Half an hour later, they'd both visited the loo, brushed their teeth and taken a quick, completely practical joint shower before more or less falling face down on the bed. The sun might have risen, but there was no earthly reason for them to follow its example.

#####

 _~Saturday Mid-Morning~_

Molly came through the dressing room wearing her coral swimming suit and stopped at the foot of the bed, planting her hands on her hips, arms akimbo, and stared at Mycroft. He was still stretched out on his back on top of the covers, his feet casually crossed, hair rumpled, fingers laced behind his head on the pillow. The corners of his lips slowly curved, and she forced herself to frown. _Give me strength._

"Come on, Mycroft. A brisk swim's just what you need to loosen your muscles and get your blood pumping after sitting for so long in meetings and on the plane."

"I think the sex already took care of that," he said, deadpan.

Molly closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. She looked at him as she released it and wondered why she'd even consider urging him to leave the bed when … well, it was _Mycroft._ And a _bed._ "Come on," she wheedled. "Swim, breakfast, then whatever you want. Whenever, wherever and however you want it." She paused a moment, then cocked a hip and tilted her head. _Damn it,_ but a swim really would be good for him. "I brought your suit up when I got mine," she added helpfully and deliberately shrugged into the thick, terry-cloth robe she was carrying and flipped her braid over the collar. "I'm ready to go, so how about it?"

Molly gripped the pool's edge and watched appreciatively as Mycroft swam toward her. His long arms and legs propelling him smoothly and methodically through the water was quite an impressive sight to behold. _Arousing_ as well, she thought. Then again, she found everything he did arousing. The simple act of breathing, for example.

He pulled up when he finished the lap and looked at her curiously as he brushed water off his face. His brows rose when he noticed her flushed face, which she hoped he'd put down to over-exertion. "That's thirty for me and even more laps for you," she said quickly. "Are you ready to stop?"

"Whatever you want," he said agreeably.

Rather than move to the ladder, Molly gripped the edge with both hands, bent her knees and pushed hard against the pool floor, springing up out of the water, and almost made it onto the decking, but the reverse rush of water and her height disadvantage was pulling her backward … when a large, firm hand flattened on her bottom and gave her a boost. She did a half-twist in the air and landed on the tiled edge, more or less sitting up, with an audible plop. She laughed as she brushed her hands over her face and shook the water from her fingers. "Five point two from the French judge. I think the sheer grace of movement charmed him."

Mycroft was standing just in front of her, head tilted as he stared at her for several moments before rolling his eyes. She laughed again at his rather bemused expression and bent forward to cup his face with her hands. "Will it threaten your Ice-manliness to hear that I find you utterly adorable?" She leaned lower to give him a teasing peck on the lips, then released him and rocked backward, bracing her hands on the tile decking behind her as she grinned at him down the length of her body … and met his eyes. Her smile slowly faded as they stared at each other.

Those moments of stillness were broken when Mycroft wrapped his arms around her hips and tugged her toward him. She leaned forward and curled her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as he lifted her and lowered her back into the water ... then waded away from the side of the pool. He bent his head to kiss her, and the damp coolness of his lips and face, the fresh tang of the saltwater and the feeling of his hard, wet chest pressed so closely against her made Molly's head spin to the point that she clutched him even more tightly with all four limbs. When he lifted his head, she slowly opened her eyes and only then realized they actually _were_ spinning. Mycroft's hands were cupped under her bottom and he was lightly bouncing her as he spun them around again, then again. Molly laughed in delight at such unexpected frivolity and strained against him as she stretched to press kisses along his jawline. He revolved again and again before he finally came to a stop in the middle of the pool … the water swirling around them, dragging at their swimsuits … and then they were kissing again – lips, cheeks, ears, necks … but lightly, teasingly, without any obvious passion.

When Mycroft eventually lifted his head and gazed down at Molly, all restraint fled and the long-suppressed words came from her mouth, somewhat breathlessly and completely without conscious thought or volition. "I love you, Mycroft Holmes."

If he'd had any warning, he might have brushed the moment aside with a wry comment - something self-deprecatory to turn the attention off her and spare her feelings - but instead he felt shaken by her abrupt declaration …her brave statement of sentiment.

Visions of their time together – a fast moving picture of the most minute details he'd absorbed through sight, sound, touch, smell and taste – flooded his mind, and his brain momentarily whirred and whirled out of control in a way it hadn't for many years … until he took charge and focused on the most extraordinary aspect of their entire relationship: The _welcome_ she'd offered, the unexpected refuge she'd provided from the life, the way of living, he'd chosen early on and had never consciously regretted.

Molly had welcomed him warmly and without reservation … into her home, into her body, into her life – from their first time together when he didn't know he wanted that kind of acceptance, to when he came to crave it … no matter how much he'd attempted to convince himself otherwise or had temporarily succeeded in rejecting it. Even that week, when their relationship was more established, he didn't consciously think of her when they were apart … and yet he now realized, acknowledged, that somewhere within him she was always there.

And that was an entirely unprecedented feeling.

Mycroft blinked and focused on Molly's face, which had paled with anxiety and the fear of rejection. Several seconds must have elapsed while he was lost in his thoughts, but how was he to respond? What did _he_ know of romance … of "love"? He had to suppress a grimace at the mere thought of it.

He blinked again, knowing she was waiting for a response and knowing she deserved so much more than he had to offer. He couldn't with honesty echo the sentiment, but he also couldn't – _wouldn't_ – reject it. Could he possibly … could it be that he actually _welcomed_ her declaration?

Mycroft finally responded in the only manner he could think of at the moment - with the one true emotion he readily identified within himself - and cupped her cheek and gently kissed her lips. _"Thank you,_ Molly."

And apparently having Mycroft's gratitude and acceptance was enough for the time being if Molly's relieved smile and the flush of pleasure that brightened her eyes and cheeks were anything to go by. He kissed her again, then arched a brow. "So … breakfast?"

"Breakfast."


End file.
